WNE 1: Weekend in New England
by aubreysmom
Summary: A simple sting turns into more than Myles and Tara had bargained for, in several aspects. This story may LOOK like a romance, but it isn't, not in the traditional sense. A few adult issues, and a couple of mildly colorful metaphors.
1. A New Lead

**Weekend in New England**

**Disclaimer:** The characters in this story are the property of Paxson Entertainment and Pebblehut Productions, with the exceptions of Dan Jones, Ruth Alley and Calvin Alley, who are my own creations.

**Acknowledgements: **Thanks as always to my several beta-readers; Nel and Reisa especially on this one, as well as Brenda and Carrie. Thanks guys!

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_Bullpen, Hoover Building  
Friday, 9 p.m._

Tara tapped the keys on her computer. "Got something."

Jack and Myles were at her elbows before the echo of her words faded. The rest of the team wasn't far behind. A frustrating Friday night looked about to get interesting.

"Dan Jones just used his credit card to book a flight to Portland, Maine." They'd been tracking the suspect for three weeks now, waiting for the man to make a move with the classified documents he'd stolen.

"When's it leave?" Jack asked.

"Tonight, midnight. United 876."

Just then, Myles' cell phone rang. A single motion of Jack's hand, and voices went silent. The blond agent let it ring twice, then answered it.

"Markham," he said in a crisp British accent. "James Markham" was the cover he was using as an interested buyer of the information Jones had. "This had best be worth all the runaround you're giving me, Jones."

He listened for a minute. "A bit out-of-the-way, isn't it? I'll find it. Tuesday morning, 10 am. Fine. My partner and I will be there." Myles hung up the phone and gave Tara a delighted smile.

"Our pigeon just came home to roost. Pack your bags for a weekend in New England."

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_Taxiway, Dulles International Airport_

_Continental Flight 496_

_Friday, 11 pm_

It was only a week after classified plans to a new radar system had gone missing from a local aerospace firm that Myles and Tara had made contact with Dan Jones. Unfortunately, the thief was being annoyingly wary about making a deal. For two weeks now, Myles had been playing the wealthy English playboy-turned-arms-dealer, with Tara as his assistant/paramour, trying to build enough trust that Jones would offer to sell the plans to them.

Now, as they settled into their seats on a slightly earlier flight into Portland International, Tara leaned over to her taller colleague. "After all this cloak-and-dagger stuff, going back to just sitting at my computer is going to seem deadly dull."

He laughed under his breath. "Now, you see, I _knew_ there was an adventurer in there somewhere, football games aside." Then he looked at her with a conspiratorial smile. "I have to admit, covers like this are my favorite part of the job, too."

"So what happens when we get to Portland?"

"We wait for Jones to show up at the airport, then tail him up the coast to Camden— that's where this house is that he's set up as a meeting place. Lucy already set up a rental car for us, and there's a bed & breakfast on the adjacent property where we can stay until the meeting on Tuesday. That way, we can keep an eye on him until then." He snapped his fingers and gave her a smile. "Oh, I forgot. Our reservations at the B & B are for Mr. and _Mrs._ Leland— small New England town, trust me, there'll be a lot less excess questions if we go in as a 'legitimate' couple."

"Talk about your whirlwind courtships," she quipped softly. "I expect a ring from you, then."

Myles laughed again and reached into his suit coat pocket. "Sorry, I didn't have time to get it wrapped." He slipped a gold wedding set onto her left ring finger, then a simple band onto his own. "There. Better?"

"Much." She was about to ask him another question about the case, but he gave a slight shake of his head and finger-spelled _L-A-T-E-R_ against her arm. Tara nodded, then leaned back in her seat as the plane roared for take-off. Staying true to their cover, she reached over and gripped her colleague's hand. Two weeks ago, a gesture like this would also have conveyed her nervousness; now it just seemed natural.

A firm, reassuring squeeze came in reply.

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_In-flight, shortly after takeoff_

He knew she was still a little nervous; the strength of her grip broadcast that loud and clear. But Myles wasn't worried. Tara had more than proven herself in the past several months, probably more so than in the six years she'd been in the Bureau. He squeezed her hand and glanced over at her, a fond look coming into his eyes.

There weren't a whole lot of female field agents; the latest figure, if he remembered correctly, stood at about 25 percent. And quite a few of those were in… less hazardous positions, like computers or video surveillance. Myles hadn't really given it much thought— Tara was as much a part of the team as any of them, and her expertise had probably solved more of their cases than the more "physical" aspects of the field agents' jobs that were usually left to the guys.

But after the incident with Crazy Loco, he'd come to realize she could pretty well take care of herself in any situation. Her tenacity in refusing to be shipped off to Minneapolis had impressed him greatly, and her strategy in planning the set-up that brought Gonzales down had been both cunning and bold. He'd never told her this, but he'd been rather honored to share the "bulls-eye" with her during the setup.

That he and the other guys on the team often took her as much for granted as they once had Lucy was tragic, and Myles had made a better effort in recent months to make sure she knew she was appreciated. It had to be subtle, lest his image as an arrogant hardass suffer (_Can't have that_, he thought ruefully), but it needed to be done.

He glanced over at her again— she'd proven herself splendidly on this case as well, and they'd fallen into an easy banter/flirt mode that made their covers even more credible. That Jones had made the "flirt" part of that a necessity made Myles want to deck him just on principle, but that could come later…

A sly smile stole across Myles' features as he looked out at a clear, star-filled January sky. Almost unbidden, an old Irish tune slipped into his mind…

_O Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling…_

_Yes, Danny, old boy,_ he thought to himself, _the pipes are indeed calling, and when the lady and I get through with you, you'll wish you'd never heard of Weber Aerospace._

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	2. Tales of the Unexpected

**Chapter 2: Tales of the Unexpected**

_Route 1A, about 30 minutes out of Portland, Maine_

_2 a.m._

Tara had dozed off a few minutes earlier, and Myles was left alone with his thoughts as they wound their way along the rugged Maine coast. A full moon lit the ocean off to his right, driving home just how much he missed New England and its unique beauty. Washington, D.C. was his home now, and he wouldn't trade it for anything, but his roots were here.

Jones was up ahead of them, the leisurely pace of his driving indicating he wasn't aware of the tail. He wouldn't be expecting them until at least Monday, anyway, and certainly wouldn't expect James Markham, Esquire, to stoop to a commercial flight and a Buick Skylark.

Myles smiled to himself as he remembered back over _several_ things Dan Jones hadn't expected, particularly where Myles' partner was concerned. Tara had surprised _him_, as well, starting the morning of their very first meeting with Jones…

_**Two weeks earlier**_

_**Bullpen, Hoover Building**_

_Myles was going over the case files at his desk; their very first meeting with Dan Jones was scheduled for an hour from now, and he wanted to be ready for any possible variable in the "deal-making" process. Anyone who willingly stole secrets from their own country to sell to outsiders made his blood boil; he wanted this guy, badly._

_The click of high heels coming toward him and stopping next to his desk made him glance over. The pair of remarkably shapely pale legs connected to the shoes made him glance twice; he'd thought it was Lucy bringing over something to do with the case. He looked up from the file, and had to take an extra breath before he could speak._

_The wardrobe of a wealthy British playboy wasn't alien to him; his background alone had brought him in contact with much of highbrow society, and he could slide into it like a second skin. But on his partner…_

_Tara eyed him momentarily, almost daring him to say something she could hit him for. She obviously wasn't comfortable in the rich wool business suit, with its slim-fitting skirt. But she looked incredible, every inch the sophisticated, efficient, downright beautiful assistant that a James Markham would choose._

_He chose his words very carefully; it wouldn't do to show up at the meeting with a black eye, and he knew she could do it if pressed. He leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow at her. "I can tell from your expression you'd prefer jeans, but I must say, you wear it well."_

_Tara tugged at the fitted blazer over the silk blouse and rolled her eyes slightly. "I feel like I should be in the window display at Saks'."_

"_They'd sell out of that outfit in an hour, then." He watched her eyes widen at the compliment, then he stood and leaned against his desk, crossing his arms and leaning toward her slightly. "I know you're nervous, Tara," he said gently, "but you're going to do fine. And you certainly look the part."_

_She gave him a long, thoughtful gaze. "Myles, I have to ask… Why did you pick me to do this cover with you?"_

_He drew back, surprised that she'd wonder. Then he opted for the direct answer. "Because you're still a field agent, even if you spend most of your time behind a computer, and you need the undercover experience as well. I know you've already done some undercover, but the roles were always right in sync with the work you do here. After the whole Crazy Loco fiasco, I thought it was about time you had an opportunity to spread your wings a little, so to speak. And Garrett agreed with me."_

"_Oh." She looked a little derailed at his honesty. "Thank you, then. I think."_

_He laughed at that. "You're going to be fine. Come on, we've got a pigeon to snare." … _

Myles shook his head at the memory of her initial fears, smiling to himself. If anything , Tara had more than exceeded every expectation he'd had… even when things got a little more involved than they'd planned…

_**Two weeks earlier…**_

_Abandoned Warehouse, Arlington, Virginia_

"_Mr. Jones, I sincerely hope this system you speak of is all you've hyped it to be." Myles kept his voice stern and uncompromising, the British accent clipped and precise. "I don't take kindly to false advertising."_

_Dan Jones responded immediately, but his eyes were still on Tara. "I assure you, Mr. Markham, that if anything, I have failed to adequately play its features up to you. I'm sure we can come to an arrangement we can all be satisfied with." His gaze indicated exactly what would satisfy him at the moment._

_Tara met his gaze coldly, but she did take a single step closer to Myles. "May I point out, Mr. Jones, that I am not part of any negotiations that will take place for this radar system. My loyalties are on a very narrow track."_

_He smiled, an attempt to be charmingly persuasive. "I assure you, Miss Dutton, that negotiations are always highly variable, loyalties notwithstanding. And I do have other interested parties; who knows what might sway the balance in Mr. Markham's favor?" His smile got wider as she glared at him. "Now, I will go and get a portion of the plans for you to look over. While I'm gone, perhaps the two of you can discuss exactly what you're willing to lay on the table… so to speak."_

_As he headed toward the warehouse office, Tara took a single step after him. "I'm gonna—"_

_Myles caught her arm. "You're going to do nothing at the moment. You can pound him into the ground later. I'll even hold him for you. But not now."_

She turned to him, the anger in her face fading into a touch of fear. "He's creeping me out, M— 'James.' I don't think he's going to take 'no' for an answer."

Myles nodded, and caught her other arm, pulling her a little closer so that his face was shielded from any possible camera angle, and he could whisper to her. "I know. So we have a couple of different options."

"What?"

"Well," he said, the trace of a smile on his face, "we could let you blow our cover and beat him to a pulp."

She couldn't help but smile in return. "Which, as much as I'd like to, we really don't want to do if we're going to nail him for espionage and treason. What's Plan B?"

Now the smile faded slightly, and he was dead serious. "Or, we could give him a little show right now that would conclusively elucidate your unavailable status."

It took a second for the words to sink in, but then she smiled. "You've been too long without a Scrabble game." She reached up decisively and laid a hand on his shoulder. "I think I can handle Plan B. It sure beats dodging this sleaze for however long this deal takes."

He nodded, catching Jones returning in his peripheral vision. "All right, then." He brought his hand up to tangle his fingers in her hair, and pulled her face toward him.

It was strange, Tara thought; to be kissing someone passionately, but with such detachment. He was a perfect gentleman about it; any observer would swear they were going for the "mutual tonsillectomy" version, but he never pressed his advantage.

Jones apparently had reached them, because they heard a distinct clearing of a throat. Tara started to pull back, but Myles cupped her cheek with his hand and very deliberately kissed her one more time; slowly, possessively, making very sure that Jones knew he wasn't anywhere near the running.

As he finally released her, Tara stared at him for a split-second, then dropped back into character and faced Jones. "I told you my loyalties were narrow," she said coldly. "Perhaps this gets the point across?"

"I can be very generous with people who can get what I want, Mr. Jones." Myles' voice was even colder. "But there are some things I don't share. If you cannot abide that…"

Dan Jones backed up a step and held up his hands. "I understand, Mr. Markham," he said quickly. "And I apologize most profusely to the lady for my earlier comments."

Ten minutes later, having perused the portion of the plans they were allowed to see and setting up a second meeting with Jones, Myles and Tara were headed back to the office. Tara was thoughtful. "He gave up awfully easy, don't you think?"

Myles swung a half-smile toward her. "What? He was 'creeping you out,' and now you're disappointed he gave up? In some circles that could garner you the label of 'a tease'."

She swatted him on the arm. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

He chuckled. "I know, Tara. I was just teasing you." Then he was all business again. "That he gave up so quickly tells me he doesn't have as many 'other interested parties' as he'd like us to think. He can't afford to blow this. The longer he has the plans, the more likelihood of his getting caught. So I think he'll behave himself now. We'd better call in."

Tara pulled out her cell phone and called Jack. She spent a few minutes filling him in on their meeting, and was about to hang up when Myles glanced in the rear-view mirror and muttered, "Uh-oh. It looks like we have a tail."

"Jones?" Tara glanced in the passenger side mirror as well. "Jack, hang on. It looks like Jones is following us."

"He probably wants to make sure we are who we claim to be," Myles said. "Which means going back to the office at this point is out, and so is going to either of our places." He thought for a moment, then he glanced over at her. "You feel like playing this little charade out a bit longer?"

Tara leaned toward him, a sudden gleam in her eye. "To borrow a phrase from Bobby, 'against this drongo'? Of course. What'd you have in mind?"

"You're enjoying this." He grinned as he reached for her phone. She handed it over and he brought it to his ear. "Jack? Looks like we're going to have to string this fish out a bit further. Can you have Lucy set us up at the Renaissance? Under James Markham. See if Leslie's working the desk this shift – she knows the drill pretty well. Yeah, I know, but Randy worked out some kind of a discount with them; I'll stay off his hit list for another month. Can we have somebody stationed outside so we know when Jones gives up and goes home? Great. Thanks, Jack."

Myles handed the phone back to Tara, who was looking at him with a "well?" expression on her face. He chuckled again. "Miss Dutton, if you're of a mind, we can give Mr. Jones a show that will guarantee both our covers and your safety from his advances."

Her grin was pure delight. "Mr. Markham, lead on." …

"All right, what's so funny?" Tara stretched a bit and shifted in her seat. "I don't usually expect to find you laughing to yourself. Unless the solitude is getting to you."

Myles gave her a look, letting the smile stay on his face. "I was just remembering that first day with Jones. And how your nervousness vanished the minute he ticked you off."

She felt her cheeks grow warm, and was glad he couldn't see it in the darkness. "It's been an adventure, hasn't it? But it sure is fun." On an impulse, she reached over and tapped his arm lightly. "Never expected that from _you_, I must admit."

A pair of blond brows went up. "What?"

Now she sobered a little, and he could tell she wasn't sure about sharing her thoughts. He glanced ahead to see Jones stopped at a lonely traffic signal, and slowed the car, turning to face her as he did.

"Come on, TaraTech," he said. "You brought it up, so spill: what is it you didn't expect from me on this case?"

She shrugged, trying to put it into words before they had to start up again. "it's just… I know you're passionate about your work; I've always known that. Somehow I didn't expect to find you … I don't know, diving into a cover like it was the greatest game around..."

The light ahead turned green, and Myles pulled back onto the road as Jones continued his trip. After a moment, he laughed softly. "I told you on the plane this is one of my favorite parts of the job."

"I know, but somehow I never expected to see an almost… boyish delight in it, when you're not strictly in character. That's more Bobby's persona."

He was quiet for another long moment. Then he spoke rather softly, serving up the thought with a shrug. "Maybe it's the company that lets it shine through a little."

Tara _stared_ at him; she seemed to be doing that a lot on this case. Then she smiled. "Glad I could help, then. You want me to drive for awhile?"

"Thanks, but we'll be in Camden in about an hour, and we'll have three hours before we can check in at the B&B. I'll catch some sleep there." He reached over and squeezed her hand. "You may as well take advantage of the quiet. I'll try to keep from laughing any more."

She nodded, and settled back in her seat, but couldn't fall back asleep right away. As she watched her partner for a moment, knowing he was lost in his memories again, her own thoughts drifted back to the day of their first meeting with Jones, and it never occurred to her to think it strange Myles kept her hand in his as they continued their journey up the coast…

_**Two weeks earlier…**_

Renaissance Hotel, Washington D.C.

The valet opened the door of their Mercedes, and Myles extended a hand to help her out of the car. "You ready?" He murmured as he tucked her arm into his.

She nodded, and they strolled into the five-star hotel as if they owned it.

A pretty brunette turned as they approached the concierge desk. "Ah, Mr. Markham, Miss Dutton," she said. "Enjoy your day out in D.C.?"

"Thank you, Leslie, very much so," Myles replied. "Are there any messages?"

Leslie slid two pink notes across the desk to him, making sure he could see the room key just peeking out under them. The number "416" was written on the top message sheet.

Myles turned slightly as he glanced at the notes, covertly scanning the elegant lobby. "Jones is here," he murmured to Tara, and caught her slight nod. Then he raised his voice slightly, handing Tara the "messages." "Thank you, Leslie. Miss Dutton, if you'll take care of these until I have a chance to call them back…" He slipped an arm around her waist as they headed for the elevator.

Once the door closed on them, Myles felt a strange sensation and turned to see Tara watching him thoughtfully. "What?"

She shook out of her thoughts. "Hmm? Oh, nothing. Maybe I'll tell you later."

He raised a brow at her, but said nothing further until the elevator deposited them on the fourth floor. They watched the second car on its way up, and Myles quickly steered her in the direction of Room 416 when the bell indicated the car was also stopping on this floor.

Tara couldn't help but giggle; he had his arms around her from behind, and he was tickling her neck as he "nuzzled" her. "James," she chided, giving him a slight swat to his arm.

"Excuse me, but after that slimy character moving in on my lady, you expect me to not re-claim my territory?" He turned her around as they reached the door, and managed to insert the key card while giving her another passionate kiss. "I just want to make sure you know where your loyalties still stand."

They slipped into the room as she replied, "As if I would trade you for him." 

Myles immediately released her as the door closed, and watched at the peephole. He placed a finger to his lips and signed a "J" to her. Tara nodded; then a thought struck, bringing a mischievous grin to her face, and she made a soft sighing sound. "Oh, James…"

Her partner gave her an astonished look; then he caught on, and a twinkle appeared in his blue-grey eyes. A smile crossed his face as he shook his head at her, then made a "go ahead" motion with his hand.

Five minutes later, Jones was back at the elevator, a rather embarrassed expression on his face, Myles noticed as he pushed the door open slightly. As soon as the man stepped into the elevator, the Harvard grad closed the door and turned to where his partner was face-down in one of the bed pillows, laughing hysterically.

"Tara." He couldn't help but smile. She was certainly having fun with this cover, and he was glad he'd chosen her to join him. She made him feel like he was a rookie again, when every experience was new.

"I'm… sorry… Myles…" She sat up, gasping for breath and still laughing. "I… just couldn't… resist…"

He sat down next to her, still shaking his head. She was delightfully contagious, and within a few minutes he was laughing along with her. "You're having way too much fun with this," he chuckled.

Another round of giggles took her, and she leaned against his shoulder. "Oh, against this idiot, there's no such thing as too much fun," she finally managed to gasp. After a few more minutes, she finally got herself under control again and looked up at him. "I'm sorry; you must think I'm completely nuts."

"Are you kidding?" he replied, a fond expression crossing his face. "I haven't had this much fun undercover in years. Now I wish we'd given you this chance ages ago."

She looked at him in astonishment. "Okay, who are you and what terrorist cell is holding my co-worker?"

Myles laughed again. "It's me, Tara. Really. And I probably should be asking you if you're real, since I never thought I…" He stopped abruptly, and a bit of the old mask dropped back into place.

She didn't push; she knew better. "Can I ask you something? I'm not upset, just curious."

He raised a brow at her and nodded.

"That last kiss…at the warehouse…"

Myles nodded in understanding. "I apologize for that; it was a bit of an afterthought. It occurred to me that 'James Markham' wouldn't likely let anyone else dictate when he should end a private moment. And it seemed like it would further cement that part of our cover."

"It's okay, it was nice… I mean, not that it was…" Tara sighed, her cheeks coloring slightly even as she waved a hand in frustration. "I wasn't griping, just wondering, okay?"

He laughed again. "Okay. Now, shall we see if Jones decided to leave us in peace, so we can get out of here? I think I owe you dinner after that performance." Giving her a wicked grin, he added, "And after that rather disjointed sentence a moment ago."

She swatted him on the arm, returning the grin. "Just call Jack, will you?" … 

Tara laughed softly to herself, then heard it echoed from the other side of the car. She gently squeezed his hand again and drifted back to sleep, wondering anew how they'd missed such an opportunity for a friendship these three years.

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	3. Settling Inn

**Oh, quick note - there's a spot in here where I've tried to capture a bit of traditional New England accent... it's not meant to be spoken as drawn-out as it looks... it just kind of flows on its own.**

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**Chapter 3: Settling Inn**

_The Inn, Bed & Breakfast  
Camden, Maine  
Saturday, 6 am_

"You folks blew in early." Ruth Alley was a typical "Down-Easter;" stating the obvious was a ubiquitous conversation starter. Myles' New England upbringing had taught him it was also a subtle question.

"We did," he replied easily. "This is the first weekend both my wife and I have had off since our wedding, so we each claimed a couple of vacation days and started driving yesterday afternoon. We decided it was time for a proper honeymoon." He ignored the look Tara was covertly giving him.

The older lady smiled. "Well, you all are in luck, then. There won't be much to distract you from each other; big snowstorm coming down from Canada. Supposed to hit some time this afternoon, last two, three days. Hear tell it dumped four feet on Toronto before it moved on."

Tara's expression held a touch of concern, and she laid a hand on Myles' arm; only he caught the twinkle in her eye. "I guess we'd better find a market nearby before it hits, then. This is a bed and _breakfast_, after all." Now she grinned at him mischievously. "And even _you_ can't put away enough at a sitting to last you all day."

He gave her a look. "Remind me again why I married you," he quipped with a chuckle.

Ruth laughed heartily at the exchange. "Now, dearie," she said to Tara, "there's no need for that. It's off-season, and you're the first guests we've had since Christmas. You're welcome to share what we have. Besides, the way they're predicting this storm, I'll wager the market's about cleaned out."

"Your hospitality is appreciated greatly," Myles replied. "If there's anything we can do to help you prepare for this storm, please let us know."

The lady eyed him for a moment; when she spoke again, her accent had deepened considerably. "Ay-uh, that we will, and thank you kindly. You might be registered as bein' from the Capitol, but my ee-ahs tell me diff'rent. You, young man, ah from Beantown."

He chuckled again, and shocked Tara completely by matching Ruth's drawl perfectly, right down to the rhythm of it. "Yo-ah ee-ahs tell you rightly, but I spent many a summah down at Old O-ah-chahd Beach. And it's wicked goo-ud to be back DownEast, yessah." How he managed to rattle it off so smoothly was beyond Tara.

Ruth laughed again and handed him a room key. "You young folks can have our one suite. Since it's off-season, and I have a soft spot for honeymooners, I won't charge you the extra for it. It looks out on both the bay and a beautiful old house next door. I understand a young man just bought it with plans to fix it up."

Myles exchanged a lightning glance with Tara. _Jones_.

"If you want to get settled, breakfast will be ready in about an hour. I can have Cal come help you with your bags if you want."

"That's okay," Tara replied. "We packed kind of light for this trip."

The knowing twinkle in the old woman's eyes made Tara blush clear to her toes as she realized the implications of her statement in the context of their cover. But Ruth simply smiled and said, "All right, then. I'll be in the kitchen when you all get settled."

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Myles was trying very hard not to laugh as they dropped their luggage in the room.

Tara was shaking her head, her cheeks still a bit pink. "Oh, knock it off. This is all _your_ fault, you know."

Now the beginning of a chuckle escaped him, even as he tried to look insulted. "_My_ fault? _How_, pray tell?"

"You and that 'time for a proper honeymoon' cover story. Honestly…" But she was starting to laugh now as well. "And _what_ was all that about 'Old O-a-chahd Beach' or whatever? I could hardly understand you."

"Oh, that." He sat down on the sofa in the "sitting room area" that garnered the room a "suite." "That was all true. We used to have a cottage near Old _Orchard_ Beach where we'd spend a couple of weeks every summer. Anne and I had a running competition going to try to see which of us could better fool the 'natives' into believing we _weren't_ 'from away,' as the phrase is here. I would sit for hours, literally, on the boardwalk there by the carnival, listening to the shop owners talk, trying to pick up not only the unique vernacular, but the rhythm of the dialect. It's completely unique. I've heard DownEast described as a cross between a British and a Southern accent."

"Ah. Well, we'd best 'get settled.' I have a feeling Ruth's likely to come after us if we don't show up in the kitchen shortly, honeymooners or not. And I'm hungry."

"_This_ is the same woman who just accused _me_ of gluttony? What's wrong with this picture?" he called over his shoulder as she went to hang her garment bag in the closet.

The only reply he got was a wicked grin and a small pillow thrown at him from off the bed.

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"Mrs. Alley, those popovers were a taste of childhood." Myles leaned back in his chair and accepted another cup of coffee from the innkeeper.

"And I've never had them before," Tara added with a smile, reaching for another of the light, fluffy breads. "They're wonderful."

Ruth smiled at them both. "You're quite welcome, and it's Ruth, please."

"She's the best cook in these parts." Calvin Alley's accent was deeper than his wife's. "How'd a Boston boy end up in Washington, anyway? Politician?" He eyed Myles warily.

The Harvard grad laughed. "No. I'm a banker, and my wife's a computer programmer. My family used to summer up here when I was in grammar school, and I wanted to show Tara the area. I'd forgotten how beautiful it was."

Tara caught on, somehow, and added, "He also told me he'd forgotten how much work his grandfather used to have him doing when he was at their house on the Cape. Especially when it came time to get the house ready for winter."

Cal eyed Myles again, this time with a much more considering expression on his face. "Ruth tells me you offered to help us batten down. I could use some help getting some more firewood loaded down in the cellar, so it'll stay dry."

"Certainly. Let me run upstairs and change into more appropriate clothes, and I'd be happy to help."

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	4. Pride Goeth Before

**Chapter 4: Pride Goeth Before…**

The click of the bathroom door caught her attention. Tara turned from the large window overlooking the bay and gasped, grinning at the same time.

"What?" came the reply as he tucked in the muted blue flannel shirt.

She shook her head, her curls bouncing around her face. "By the time we get done with this case, I'm not even going to remember the man I started it with. I didn't think you even _owned_ a pair of blue jeans."

Myles grinned rather ruefully as he picked up a heavy cable-knit ivory sweater off the bed. "Just because I choose not to wear them to work, doesn't mean I don't appreciate them when I have to _really_ do some heavy work. And loading firewood requires one dress down a bit."

She raised a brow at him. "So why'd you pack them? You couldn't have known ahead of time that you'd need them for heavy work."

A silver shrug was the reply. "You forget, I spent a lot of childhood vacations here. I know how to blend in. If Cal saw me show up in khakis and a sport shirt, he'd laugh me right off into the bay out there. By the way…" He promptly changed the subject. "We need to call in. If this snowstorm hits the way they're saying, it'll knock out everything, cell service included."

Tara looked a bit skeptical. "It's just a snowstorm. We've had them in D.C. before, and growing up in Virginia we had them almost every year. They make it sound like a hurricane's bearing down."

Myles pulled on a pair of heavy hiking-type boots, speaking as he worked. "In a way, that's what these storms up here can be like. I'll explain a bit more when I get back. I'm sorry to leave casework to you right now, but it really is something Cal needs help with, and needs to get done."

She waved a hand at him as he stood up. "Don't worry about it. All I have to do is call in, and try to see if Jones is doing anything over at the house. This room is perfect for surveillance. It's a piece of cake. Hey, don't you need a coat?"

"Cal said he had an extra parka down in the cellar. My overcoat is pretty much useless for work like this. And it would get ruined. I shouldn't be more than an hour or two. I'll tell Ruth you're napping right now."

"Oh, thanks so much," she quipped. "You can survive on three hours sleep, but I have to have a nap? Go be Superman, then."

His chuckle echoed clear down the hallway. Tara smiled, shaking her head yet again, and turning back to the window. She hooked the headset onto her cell phone and called Jack, pulling a pair of high-powered field glasses out of her bag at the same time. She noticed that in the five-minute conversation she'd had with Myles, the morning sky had darkened considerably, and a light snow had started.

Jack's voice came on the line. "Hudson."

"Hey, Jack. It's Tara." She lifted the binoculars to her eyes and focused on the old farmhouse next door.

"It's about time the two of you called in."

"Sorry. The drive up was uneventful, and we just barely got settled." As she aimed the field glasses at the bay window of the kitchen, Jones looked like he was just finishing breakfast. A dark briefcase sat on the table next to him. "Jones is at the house next door. Doesn't seem to be doing much at the moment."

"Myles still recovering from all-night driving?" There was a trace of laughter in Jack's voice.

"Actually," Tara replied, her tone a cross between slightly defensive and very amused, "he's helping our innkeeper get a load of firewood in under cover. They're predicting some heavy snow over the next couple of days."

She heard Jack shush everyone around him, and could picture him shaking his head slightly, in case his ears were blocked up. "Wait a sec. Did I hear you right? Myles is _loading firewood_? Of his own volition?"

As strongly as she knew it was just habit, some part of his comment irked her more than she'd expected. _Then again, two weeks ago I'd have thought the same thing._ "Yes, of his own volition. Wait a sec." She focused the field glasses again, then spoke into the phone.

"Jack, Jones is headed toward the inn. He's carrying a briefcase."

Jack's voice immediately switched over from sarcasm to concern. "He's headed for the inn? Is there any way he could spot Myles? Can you warn him?"

Suddenly, Tara breathed a sigh of relief. "He's not headed for the inn itself, Jack," she said. "There's a small building abut 150 yards along the property line. He's going in there. Must be a storage shed of some sort."

"Wait'll he leaves, then go out and see what's going on. Maybe he decided to keep the radar plans close, but not _too_ close."

Tara glanced at the sky again; the snow was getting a bit heavier, and a slight wind was picking up. "Looks like the storm might hit sooner than they expected, Jack." She paused, and was irked further by his next words.

"Well, we still should check it out. How long was Myles going to be busy?"

She gritted her teeth; _I should have known._ "I can handle it, Jack. Jones is leaving now. I'll call you when I get back." She hung up before he could comment further, muttering under her breath as she went to grab her jacket and the digital camera. _Men._

**stfbe**

**stfbe**

Jones was in the shed about fifteen minutes; she watched him from the back door of the inn, which opened up onto a huge deck. _This place must be gorgeous in the summertime_, she thought to herself as she leaned against the doorsill. Even in the dead of winter, the bay held a peacefulness about it, surprising from the steel-grey and white landscape.

"Thought you were napping." Ruth's voice made her jump slightly.

"Couldn't sleep," Tara responded, keeping one eye on Jones. The snow was getting a bit heavier, and it was harder to see the 150 yards to the shed. "What a beautiful view," she continued, motioning toward the window, hoping the older lady would take her distraction as something other than it was.

"Ayuh," Ruth replied with a smile. "I've been to big cities only a couple times in my life, and I'm always glad to get back to the bay. I prefer my skyscrapers in evergreen."

Tara laughed. "I can see where that would have its appeal. Do you need any help? Myles was telling me there's a lot involved in 'battening down' for a storm." She fervently hoped Ruth wouldn't suggest anything right now; Jones was almost back to his house, and she needed to get out there. But it would likely mess up their cover if she didn't at least offer.

"Not right now, dearie," Ruth said, patting her shoulder. "I'm in the middle of whipping up a chowder for lunch. I might need some help a bit later, though. Thank you for offering. You just relax for awhile." She wandered back toward the kitchen, leaving Tara alone.

_Bless her heart, I thought she'd never leave._ The sooner she got out there to see what Jones had been up to, the quicker she could get back here and not risk their cover any further. She pulled on her jacket, which had been hidden under a huge pillow on the window seat that overlooked the deck, and hauled on a knit hat and a pair of gloves. _Off into the great white north, then._

**stfbe**

**stfbe**

Tara knelt on the dusty floor of the shed. It had taken her a good ten minutes to wade through the foot of already-fallen snow, holding onto the fence that marked the property line in order to both stay on her feet against the stiffening wind and to ensure she would be able to find the shed. It was getting harder to see ahead of her; the snowflakes were huge, wet lace fragments that were swiftly blanketing the ground in a fresh layer.

As soon as she'd escaped the wind, she had noticed a layer of dust had been disturbed on the floor, in a faint square. _Trap door_, she thought. _I wonder how Jones could have known it was here._ She hated to think that he'd been sneaking around Cal and Ruth's place before; they were nice people.

She reached for her pocketknife, and gently pried up the edge of the door. The edges were smooth, but not weathered. _He must have cut it himself, quite a while ago, from the looks of it. He's been up here for a long time, or longer than we'd thought._

Inside was a small storage space containing a manila envelope. Slipping her gloves back on, Tara gently opened the clasp; the plans for the radar system appeared in her eyesight. She snapped several shots with the digital camera, then gently closed the clasp again, making sure the string was wound in the same direction as it had been.

She placed it back in the space, snapping one more shot before she dropped the trap door back into position. _Now, to re-dust the place._ She grabbed an old sack off a nearby crate and shook it until a fresh layer of dust obliterated any trace of disturbance.

She glanced at her watch; she'd been out here only twenty minutes. _Plenty of time to get back before the worst of the storm hits. No worries._ The phrase brought a smile, and she stepped out of the shed.

The shed windows had been dirty enough that she hadn't noticed the darkening sky, nor had she realized the wind was now whipping the trees into a frenzy. Only when the shed door was nearly torn from her hands did she realize the walk back was going to take a little more doing.

**stfbe**

**stfbe**

Cal gave a great sigh. "So much for it hitting this afternoon. At least we got a good supply of wood in. We'll be set for awhile. Rest of it's gonna be too wet to bother moving."

Myles leaned against the door they'd left open to ease the job they'd been doing, crossing his arms over the heavy parka. "I'd forgotten just how nasty Mother Nature can get up here. Even in Boston, or my grandparents' place on the Cape, never seemed to attract this much snow and wind."

"Oh, I'd say your grandfolks have seen many a storm like this. 'Specially on the Cape. Them little strips of land out on God's ocean can take quite a beating." Cal pulled the door shut, but it still rattled against the wind, which had swiftly risen to nearly gale-force in the last fifteen minutes. Then he shed his gloves and hung the parka up on a nearby hook. Myles followed suit.

"Don't know about you, Myles, but I could sure use a cup of coffee and one of Ruth's lemon bars about now. What'cha say?"

The younger man smiled at him. "Cal, I'd say that sounds about perfect."

**stfbe**

**stfbe**


	5. Whiteout!

**Chapter 5: Whiteout!**

"She was looking out at the bay the last time I saw her," Ruth said as she refilled Myles' cup. "She asked if I needed any help, and I told her I was working on lunch just then, so she could just relax for awhile. I suspect she went back up to your room to rest a spell."

"That's probably where she is then," Myles replied. But he couldn't shake a twinge of worry starting in his gut. _What was she doing downstairs, anyway? She was supposed to be watching Jones._ He drained his coffee and stood up. "Ruth, thank you very much for the coffee. I think I'll go see if I can rouse her, so she's awake for lunch." He nodded to Cal and headed upstairs.

The room was quiet and immaculately neat; even the pillow she'd tossed at him earlier was back on the bed. "Tara?" he called, not too loudly in case other ears were nearby. He tapped on the bathroom door, but there was no answer.

Very carefully, he opened the door just slightly and called her name again, thinking perhaps she'd opted for a soak in the tub and had fallen asleep. _Not like her to do that in the middle of a surveillance, unless Jones took off somewhere. But in this weather?_

But there was no one in the bathroom, either. The knot in his gut was tightening. _Where is she?_

Just then, he heard a cell phone ring. Looking around, he spotted Tara's phone on the window seat. He noticed Jack's ID on the screen and answered the call. "Jack?"

"Myles. Is Tara back yet? Did she find anything?"

"Back from _where_, Jack? I just got finished helping Cal get a load of wood in. The last I knew, she was watching Jones and calling you. That was over an hour ago."

Jack paused slightly. "She did call me earlier. While we were talking, she said Jones was crossing the property line toward a small shed about 150 yards from the inn. It seemed suspicious, so I suggested she check it out."

A flutter of panic settled in his chest as Myles looked out at the storm blowing. "She did tell you we're in the middle of a blizzard, didn't she?"

"She said there was a storm due to come in this afternoon. When she said that, I suggested she wait until you got back."

Myles ran a hand over his face and hair; _sometimes, Jack, you really haven't got a clue._ The fear in his heart was rising further, the frustration overshadowing any thoughts of the propriety of yelling at his unit leader.

"Jack, you should know better by now than to imply she can't handle something and to leave it to the guys. She went out there, in this snow, and the storm closed in faster than we expected. You remember your Midwest blizzards? Well, up the humidity about tenfold. The cold goes right through you like a knife. And the snow's piling up at the rate of about three inches an hour – heavy, wet snow." His voice rose in pitch as an image of what she was facing shot through his mind. "She's got a fleece jacket and ankle-high boots, Jack; it's not enough for weather like this. She'll end up soaked, in this wind; the chill's headed for about –15 degrees or worse!"

There was silence on the other end of the line for a long moment. "I didn't know, Myles. I'm sorry."

Myles sighed. "I know you didn't know. And she should have known better. I'll yell at her when I get her back in here. I'll call you."

He hung up, still staring out at the storm. _Over an hour. Tara, what am I going to do with you?_ He headed back downstairs, wondering how on earth he was going to explain this to Ruth and Cal if by some accident he ran into them.

He didn't allow himself to think of what the worst case could be.

**stfbe**

**stfbe**

Never in her life had she been so cold.

She was grateful for the steady strength of the fence rail in her hand; it was the only steady thing in her life right now. The snow was long past the tops of her boots, and was heavy enough that she couldn't just push through it. Her jeans and her coat were soaked, and with every step snow fell off her hat and down her neck. The wind seemed to drive the water right through to her skin; she could feel her back muscles seizing up from the intense chill. It made walking even harder.

To make matters worse, the wind was also doing its level best to tear her from the safety of the rail; she knew that if she let go, it could shortly be impossible to get her bearings, since she could barely see three feet in front of her.

Each step was becoming harder; she could feel the icy wind freezing the water in her jeans, could feel the ache in the bottom of her lungs. She fervently wished she'd bothered to count the fence posts on her way to the shed; then at least she'd have an idea of how much further she had to go. Lifting each foot felt like the high setting on the weight machine.

_Stupid. Always have to prove you can do what the guys can. Myles would've just told Jack it was too dangerous. But no, Williams, you have to go play Wonder Woman on three hours' sleep and a handful of popovers. You're gonna get yelled at._

The thought of Myles tearing into her in exasperation warmed her a little; but then the frightening thought that she might not even make it back to the inn to _get_ yelled at settled in her heart. Suddenly, this was about much more than a little cold; she knew she could be in serious trouble.

_Don't think about it. Just keep moving._

**stfbe**

**stfbe**

He'd hung the "do not disturb" sign on their door and slipped downstairs, continuing down to the cellar to retrieve the heavy parka he'd worn earlier. The storm outside was still gaining strength, and he knew Tara's fleece jacket would be of little use to her in wind and wet like this. He didn't have much time.

As he edged around the corner of the inn, the wind caught him full in the face and just about knocked him over. They'd been a bit sheltered where they were loading firewood; now he caught the full force of it.

_Of all the stubborn, bullheaded… _But he couldn't keep the rant going; the truth was, he was scared witless for his colleague, his _friend,_ and the possibilities of the condition he could find her in were like cross-fire in his head.

Myles stood at the end of the fence by the inn; he knew Tara would have enough sense to follow the fence, but _where_ along it was she? _150 yards, 6 feet between posts…75 fence posts._ He pulled his scarf up over his face, placed a hand on the rail and, bending his head against the wind, started counting.

**stfbe**

**stfbe**

She went down, hard; it wasn't the first time it had happened, but it was the hardest to get up from. It was getting difficult to even think straight; she focused solely on her grip on the rail, and putting one foot in front of the other.

Suddenly, a fierce gust of wind caught her off-guard, and for a single moment her grip was torn away. Fighting panic, she leaned back into the wind with all the energy she had left, until her nearly-numb fingers touched the rough beam again.

Tara wrapped both arms around the rail this time; it was the only lifeline she had left. _Got to keep…moving._ Even her thoughts were starting to feel like they were freezing. _one…step…one…more…_

The ground beneath her was freezing as well, and slick spots had become her plague. She felt her feet go out from under her again, but barely felt the impact that jarred her. The rough edge of a fence post sent slivers of pain into her cheek, though she had no idea how she could have felt it.

The edges of a warm euphoria were starting to wrap their tendrils around her, and she couldn't gather the energy to get to her feet again. Burying her face against the rough wood to shelter it from the wind as much as possible, she clung to the post, not wishing to inflict such cold on anyone else, but praying someone would find her before she gave in to it completely.

**stfbe**

**stfbe**

_25… 26… _Myles' worry grew with every post he counted. Thirty-five would mean she hadn't even gotten halfway, and that could be fatal for her. The human body's core temperature could only take so much before it just shut down; hypothermia was a dangerous condition, and the core temperature would continue to drop even after he managed to get her inside. Speed was of the essence.

_28…_ A memory plagued him; when he was 15, the Scout troop he belonged to had done a winter hike/campout during his break from prep school. It was his grandfather who had pushed Scouts; his parents could have cared less, though once he joined they made sure he knew they expected great things from him. But even getting his Eagle a year early hadn't seemed to be enough.

The hike had started out well enough; they were having a marvelous time. Then one of his troop-mates, a good friend, had started acting strangely. He couldn't seem to walk straight, and was becoming increasingly disoriented. To top it off, he was shivering violently, and didn't seem to be able to stop. Myles had dropped back to check on him, and had been shocked to realize that Aaron wasn't wearing boots; he was hiking through the snow in his tennis shoes.

Further inspection revealed Aaron hadn't dressed as warmly as they'd been instructed to. Myles had quickly gotten the attention of one of the leaders, who had recognized the symptoms of hypothermia almost immediately. They were high in the mountains, and there was no way to get medical help.

They'd had to make do on their own; the troop stopped right where they were and got a fire going; it hadn't snowed in several days, so there was semi-dry wood available. Mr. Boone had unrolled a couple of sleeping bags, and the boys had taken turns holding Aaron, trying to get his core temperature back up. They'd melted snow and mixed it with just a little sugar, then tried to get Aaron to drink it.

But it hadn't been enough; by the time someone from the ranger station at the bottom of the mountain got to them with a helicopter, Aaron was dead. The whole troop had been devastated.

_And there hadn't even been a storm that day; just cold… _Myles shook off the memory fiercely, and sped up. _30… 31… _

**stfbe**

**stfbe**


	6. Desperate Measures

**Behave yourselves, folks- :) - read it for what it is...**

**stfbe**

**stfbe**

**Chapter 6: Desperate Measures**

"Tara!"

She was huddled in a ball, gripping one of the fence posts for dear life. There was little response as he knelt and touched her, but after a moment she looked up at him. She was shaking so badly that he could barely determine how badly off she was. _As long as she's still shivering, there's a good chance._

"M-m-myles?" Her voice was so faint he barely heard her over the wind. Very gently, he scooped her up in his arms and started back, keeping his hip against the fence.

"It's all right." He prayed it really would be. "Listen to me. Can you count backwards from 100 by nines? Try for me, please."

Her voiced was slurred as she responded, too slowly. "Uh…100… 91… oh, I d-d-don't know, M-m-myles. Who c-c-c-cares, anyway?"

His pace increased; she wasn't in life-threatening shape just yet, but she wasn't far from it. There were only 4 degrees of temperature separating mild and severe hypothermia, and she was likely edging toward that fourth degree. The fact that she couldn't work the cognitive puzzle he'd asked of her was fair proof of that. Her collapse may have been from exhaustion, but the pauses in her shivering struck fear in his heart. Aaron's shivering had eventually stopped altogether, before he went semi-conscious and then his heart stopped.

It took almost twice as long for him to cover the 75 yards he'd just come; the blizzard was in full force now, the sky as dark as twilight at 11:30 in the morning, and the wind screaming like an overloaded freight train.

By the time they got back to the inn, he was exhausted, but his worry for her kept him moving. He slipped up the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible so he wouldn't have to explain what his "wife" had been doing out in the middle of a blizzard. He also knew he was on his own for the most part – he had no idea where the hospital was in Camden, and trying to drive in this storm would likely end up killing them both.

She was quiet, too quiet as he closed the door to their room and set her down on the bed. All of her remaining energy seemed to be taken up with the shakes that racked her body. Quickly, he got hot water running in the bathroom sink, and then stripped off her soaked jacket and his parka.

"Tara." He got little response, and the listlessness in her eyes stoked the fear all over again. He tried desperately to concentrate on all he'd ever learned about treating hypothermia.

_Try to raise the core temperature from the inside as well as the outside._ Best place to start – and better for both of them if this worked. He grabbed a small cup from his overnight bag – sinus problems often plagued him in the winter, and he'd learned to pack a "steam cup" when he traveled; the special lid made it easy to inhale hot vapors to ease the sinus pain. Warm, moist oxygen would be what she needed — or, it was a start.

But first he had to get her out of those soaked clothes. He grabbed a terry robe from a hook nearby and draped it over her shoulders. He'd deal with any embarrassment later; right now, her life was at stake. Thankful she'd not worn a pullover, he made short work of the heavy button-down shirt. The jeans took a little more doing, since they were all but frozen stiff, but finally she was wrapped in the warm robe with as little embarrassment on either of their parts as he'd been able to manage.

He filled the steam cup from the sink, replaced the lid, and returned to her side, holding the cup to her nose and mouth as he wrapped his other arm around her. _Come on, Tara. Fight it. Don't give up on me._

**stfbe**

**stfbe**

A tap echoed on the door. "Mr. Leland? Mrs. Leland? Lunch is ready."

Ruth's voice brought his head up. He gently moved his arm from around Tara, letting her lay on the bed as a particularly strong round of shivers took her. He had to protect her, and their covers (though that was the last item on his list right now), but he also needed a bit of help.

He opened the door. "Ruth. I'm sorry; I'm afraid we won't make it for lunch right now. You see, my wife sometimes gets terrible migraines, and she's in the middle of one right now."

"The poor dear!" Ruth exclaimed. "Is there anything I can get for her?"

It was the perfect opening. "Perhaps some tea, if you don't mind. She can't eat a great deal, but a cup of hot tea usually helps a little."

The older lady patted his arm. "Don't you worry. I'll be right back with a tray for the both of you. Something light, unless you'd like a bowl of chowder."

He smiled. "That actually sounds marvelous about now. Thank you, Ruth."

She bustled away, and he returned to Tara's side. Kneeling down next to the bed, he brushed her hair away from her face. "Tara? Come on, talk to me. Anything."

Another round of shivers took her, and he moved up onto the bed and drew her close. Her voice was still slurred, but it seemed a little better.

"I s-s-s-sorry. Want-t-t-ted t-t-t-to…"

"I know," he replied quietly. "But you don't have to prove you're as good an agent as the rest of us. Certainly not to me."

"C-c-c-c…camera… in m-my p-p-pock-k-et… ok-k-kay?"

He smiled against her hair. _You're too much, Williams._ "I'll check in a few minutes. Right now let's get you warmed up."

She nodded against his chest, almost clinging to him as the shivers continued. He picked her up and moved her over to the sofa in front of the fireplace. It didn't take long to get a fire roaring, and Ruth tapped on the door just as he stood up.

"Here you go, Mr. Leland. I hope she's feeling better soon. If she's hungry later, you come find me, all right?"

"Thank you, Ruth. And it's Myles, please." He took the tray from her and closed the door, immediately moving back to Tara's side.

Her eyes were still dull, almost lifeless; a marked contrast from the bright, intelligent snap in them he'd come to appreciate. He mixed a cup of weak tea, and held it so she could drink. "Tara, come on. We need to get you warmed up. Drink, please."

**stfbe**

**stfbe**

It wasn't working; although her shivering hadn't become intermittent, she still wasn't responding, he couldn't get her to eat or drink, and he knew it was only a matter of time before she slipped further into hypothermia, and he'd be helpless to do anything. He had to get her warmed up, and there was only one option left.

He left her huddled on the sofa by the fire, and went over to where her overnight bag was packed. _Something dry, lightweight…_ He pulled out a satin chemise and matching shorts. _Yes, that will work!_

Returning to the sofa, he took her face in his hands and tried desperately to get her attention. But she was spent, the last remaining ounces of her energy going to simply breathing and shivering.

_Forgive me, my dear friend – I hope you'll understand this was the last option available._

It took a few minutes; he tried as hard as he could to spare her any embarrassment, but finally she was dressed in the dry, light clothes. He carried her over to the bed, then stripped down to only his tank shirt and boxers.

As he took her in his arms and held her tightly, covering them both with the thick comforter, he found it ironic that he, whom most of the team would consider the "coldest" among them, was at this moment praying that his own warmth would be enough for her life.

**stfbe**

**stfbe**


	7. Warm Front

**Chapter 7: Warm Front**

_Saturday afternoon…about three hours later_

He didn't even realize he'd dozed off until a hand on his cheek brought him around. _Such a long day… chasing after Tara… _The thoughts had been lazy until her name; then his eyes flew open. "Tara?"

A pair of dark eyes met his, a rather serious expression in them. "You know, I realize this cover got a little involved, but I never realized the extent to which you'd carry it."

"What?" Then it hit him what she was implying. "Tara, no… I mean, I didn't mean… this isn't…" He tried to pull away from her, until her eyes started twinkling and a soft smile touched her lips as she put a hand over his mouth.

"Myles. I'm _teasing_ you."

His eyes widened as he realized two things: first, she wasn't mad at him, and second, she was teasing him as usual. _As usual… She's okay!_ Without even thinking further, he crushed her back into his arms as if she'd been away for years, planting a long kiss in her hair. Then he drew back to look into her eyes again.

"Don't you _ever_ do anything like that to me again— do you hear me, Miss Williams?" He tried to sound stern, but he just couldn't manage it— the relief was too overwhelming.

She nodded, a shine of tears making her eyes even more luminous. "I know. It was stupid. I guess, when Jack suggested I wait for you to get back, I just lost it a bit. I'm sorry."

There was a gentle exasperation in his voice. "Tara, you don't have to prove yourself; we know— _I know_ that you are as good a field agent as the rest of us. If we hadn't figured it out before, that whole incident with Gonzales proved it completely." He reached out to stroke her cheek. "And you've proven it again, so well, on this case. I never had a single doubt when I asked you to join me. I know it's hard— you're in a male-dominated line of work, and sometimes, most of the time, that inherent protective streak of ours comes out, no matter how good we know you are. It's nothing personal, and you just have to thwack us up-side the head once in awhile."

She was looking at him as if she'd never seen him before. "Okay, I never thought I'd hear a word like 'thwack' come out of your mouth. And I certainly never expected Myles Leland the Third to actually _admit_ to having a protective streak." Then she smiled. "Although I've seen it in action plenty of times. You really are a _lousy_ liar around the rest of us, Agent Leland, no matter how hard you try."

He laughed. "Let's just hope you're the only one who noticed. How are you feeling?"

"Like I just ran a marathon in a hurricane," she sighed. "But I'm okay now. I'm warm— that's enough for the moment."

"Hungry?"

"Ravenous." At his grin, she blushed a little. "I know, I know – 'as usual'. You make me sound like Bobby."

"Well, then, perhaps we should get ourselves out of this admittedly compromising position and get you something to eat. I told Ruth you were suffering a migraine. She said the kitchen was open whenever you felt like eating."

Tara smiled, then realized what he'd said. She reached up and put her arms around his neck, her eyes threatening to spill over. "Myles, one thing I want you to know: there is _nothing_ compromising about what you did for me. You saved my life. Thank you." There was embarrassment in his blue-grey eyes, but she wouldn't let him look away until she'd placed a very gentle kiss on his cheek. "_Thank you_."

**stfbe**

**stbfe**

He'd made her go take a hot shower even after she'd insisted she was fine; as strange as it was to have him fussing over her, Tara was warmed further by it. _How on earth did we miss this opportunity this whole time we've worked together?_ she thought as she brushed her damp curls, studying her face in the mirror. She noticed a rather angry red mark on her cheek. _Where'd I get…? Oh, the fence post; that's right._ A closer inspection revealed a nasty-looking sliver imbedded under the skin.

She finished dressing quickly and stepped out of the bathroom; she heard a soft intake of breath and turned toward the sofa, burying a soft gasp of her own. Instead, she smiled and walked over to sit next to him. "I don't suppose you managed to salvage my pocket knife from the wet jeans? Oh, I think I stuck it in my jacket instead, after I got done prying up that trap door in the shed."

He raised a brow at her. "I didn't find it. Checked the pockets of both your jeans and your jacket when I went to grab the camera. It seems to have survived unscathed, by the way. You need your pocketknife for something?"

Tara nodded and pointed to her cheek. "You missed a spot, Doc."

Myles caught her chin in his hand and inspected the damage. "Ouch."

"Now that it's thawed out, yes. But without my knife, I'll have to ask Ruth for a needle and a pair of tweezers, then try to explain how I got a sliver in my cheek in the first place."

His slow smile was mischievous and totally endearing. "Then I guess it's a good thing you partnered up with an Eagle Scout." He reached into the pocket of his khakis and pulled out a Swiss Army knife. "Too bad the first-aid kit's under three feet of snow right now; I don't have anything to sterilize this with."

"How'd a first-aid kit get into a _rental_?" she asked.

Another of those silver shrugs. "Told you— Eagle Scout."

She laughed. "Except 'Sir Eagle' left it in the car. It's a good thing _you_ partnered up with a woman who believes in oversized purses." She got up and grabbed her purse, then returned to the sofa. A moment's rummaging, and she handed him a disposable lighter. "That should work. Now could you _please_ get this thing out of my face before it puts down roots?"

"I think I can manage that." His touch was sure but gentle as he lightly probed for the sliver. While he worked, that same smile appeared again. "So how come, if you stock a lighter in that arsenal of yours when you don't smoke, you didn't have a needle and some tweezers?"

It took some doing not to smile back; she knew that would seriously jeopardize his task. "The tweezers were a part of my knife; it must have fallen out of my jacket pocket while you were carrying me back here. As for the needle, every time I attempt to sew on a button, I end up skewering my finger, so I gave up."

A low chuckle escaped him. "And here I thought you were one of those ladies who could chase down the bad guys then go home and whip up a cheese soufflé to serve on your hand-sewn tablecloth without batting an eyelash. Here, can you grab the tweezers out of my knife?"

She did so, wondering how she'd never noticed how his eyes went much more blue when he was teasing. _Then again, how often do any of us get to see this side of him? He spends so much effort veiling it all in sarcasm._ "Here. And I don't think I've even _had_ cheese soufflé, let alone attempted to make one. Martha Stewart I'm not."

"No, you're much more interesting." Suddenly, he rather abruptly drew back and his manner went totally businesslike as he pulled the sliver out of her cheek. "There you go," he said distantly. "Do you have an alcohol wipe or something in your purse? That cut could stand some cleaning, or else Ruth will notice it for sure." He stood and walked over toward the window seat, effectively shutting her out.

Tara sat for a moment, stunned. Then she realized what he'd said, and the look in his eyes as he'd said it. He'd allowed her further inside than likely anyone in a long time, and it had scared him deeply. The realization made her smile, then realized she was doing the same thing; it just didn't scare her as much. _How did we get here?_ she thought in amazement. _And why did it take us so long?_

Deciding she could give him time to regroup, she grabbed a first-aid wipe out of her purse, dabbed at her cheek, then stood and walked over to him. Unconsciously avoiding the view of the storm outside, she gave him a light swat on the arm. "Hey, I thought we were going to get something to eat."

She decided to ignore the flash of gratitude in his eyes as he finally turned to face her. "Oh, that's right." He'd backed off to the quip-trading they'd fallen into so easily. "I just hope Ruth has that kitchen well-stocked."

**stfbe**

**stbfe**

Dinner was relaxed; Cal spent most of the time spinning "yarns" about the area, the people, and even a few past storms. Tara found herself laughing, even though she had a hard time working through his accent and the idioms of the area. She glanced over at Myles several times, finding him smiling over his coffee cup or shaking his head as what had to be a myriad of childhood memories came back.

After dinner, the men made sure the woodboxes were filled for the main room and both the Alleys' and "Lelands'" rooms. Tara helped Ruth clean up the kitchen, then they trimmed and filled a half-dozen kerosene lamps. Their timing was perfect; they'd just finished filling the last one when the lights went out.

"There's that," Cal said as he and Myles walked back into the kitchen. "I'm surprised it stayed on as long as it did."

Ruth touched a match to the first wick, and shortly there was a soft glow throughout the room. She pushed a lamp each toward Myles and Tara, smiling. "Now, we've worked the two of you long enough on what is supposed to be your 'honeymoon.' Go enjoy each other."

Tara felt her cheeks grow warm, then glanced at Myles. He seemed to be having a harder time than she was with Ruth's comment, but only Tara would have noticed it. To Ruth, he simply smiled and said, "I know better than to argue with a DownEaster. Good night, then." He offered Tara his arm, and they headed toward their room, kerosene lamps in hand.

**stfbe**

**stbfe**

He knew she was a bit confused; still, he was grateful she hadn't pressed the issue. _How did we reach this point?_ he wondered as he knelt to add some wood to the fireplace. _Here, with her, I feel like I could drop every wall I've ever set in place, and it would still be safe. But this isn't real… it's part of a cover. Or is it? How much is real and how much is cover? Right here, right now?_

He considered very carefully what he knew of her; Tara was as open an individual as he knew, in some aspects. Yet he knew very little of her personal life, save her litany of endless, and apparently disappointing, blind dates. He knew _that_ feeling well; it seemed he'd fared no better in his own social engagements. _Still…_

Then he remembered the conversation they'd had while they sat in the restaurant the night they took Carlos Gonzales down. Neither of them had been on radio, since they hadn't wanted to take the chance of tipping their hand. As such, it was the first opportunity he'd had to really talk to her since the whole mess had started.

She'd been understandably wary when he brought it up; he knew she didn't like to show what she perceived as weakness to her fellow agents. But he'd related to her his own "first-time" experience, and some of the aftermath he'd gone through. He'd watched her eyes widen, both at the fact he'd open up that much to her, and in realization that she wasn't alone in her feelings.

Since that night, he'd realized not only that she was far more adept at _all_ the angles of her job, she was also very good at keeping things to herself. No one else had ever said one word about the discussion they'd had, not even Sue. And he knew that Sue would have found some discreet way to show him she knew, had she found out, even simply to thank him for helping Tara. It was too much of a deviation from his typical behavior for her to have just let it go.

_I can trust her._ The realization hit him with startling certainty, and the defenses he'd put back up earlier faded again. Just then, he heard a very soft sound off to his left, just barely over the screaming of the wind outside. He stood and turned.

Tara was sitting on the window seat, her knees drawn up to her chest, staring out the window. The heavy snow wasn't as visible in the dark, but it was there, along with the wind and a chill against even the double-paned glass. Her eyes were wide and almost vacant; she was caught up in the memory of being out in the storm, he realized as a shiver ran through her. Two single tears tracked down her cheeks.

"Tara?" He sat down next to her and reached for her hand. "Hey, are you okay?"

The change in her demeanor was as abrupt as his had been earlier. "I'm fine," she said, quickly scrubbing at her cheeks. "I'm just tired, I guess."

He knew better, but he granted her the same space she'd given him, for the moment at least. "All right. You're welcome to the bed; I'll take the sofa."

She laughed, a bit of a pained sound. "Myles, you're about eight inches taller than me. There's no way you'll be comfortable on that sofa."

It was as good an opening as he was going to get. "What? A guy can't make a decent sacrifice for his partner?" He reached up and wiped the remainder of a tear from her cheek. "Tara, you're safe now. That storm can't hurt you anymore. I won't let it."

She looked at him for a very long moment, searching for whatever she'd heard in his voice. What she saw made her eyes go very wide as she realized he wasn't afraid of opening up to her anymore. And that she didn't need to be afraid, either. The dam burst, and she buried her head against his chest.

Myles gathered her in his arms and held her tightly, stroking her hair and rocking her slightly as she released the trauma of the storm and everything that had come with it. When she was spent, she looked up at him, a bit embarrassed.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

She dropped back onto safer ground. "For getting your shirt all wet, for starters."

A very soft laugh came in reply. "Hey, that's what flannel was created for. You didn't know that?"

She couldn't help the smile that crossed her face. "I have to admit, you gave me quite a shock earlier this evening. That red plaid with the white turtleneck was about as 'un-Myles' as I'd have ever dreamed, yet you can make even that look classy."

Myles raised a brow at her, a grin quirking the corner of his mouth. "Why, thank you. You made me take an extra breath, too, Miss Williams, with that teal sweater of yours— that blue-green is definitely your color. So now that we have the fashion review out of the way, would you like to talk?"

Something made her search his eyes once more before she quipped softly, "Only if _I'm_ not the only one baring my soul."

There wasn't even a flicker of hesitation, and he matched the quiet tone. "You're on."

**stfbe**

**stbfe**


	8. Revelations

**Chapter 8: Revelations**

"You falling asleep?"

She'd gotten a bit lost in his voice. "Hmm? A little, I guess. But not because of your story. How long have we been talking, anyway?"

He glanced at his watch. "Three hours." At some point they'd changed positions; now he was leaning back against the sofa, seated on the floor with his legs stretched out, and she was lying on the sofa itself, on her stomach with her arms crossed and her chin resting on them, so their heads were close together.

"Wow." She laughed quietly. "Who'd have ever thought—"

"—that we could spend three hours talking about anything and everything, and have it seem like no time had passed at all?" He smiled at her. "Certainly wasn't anything I'd have called. Guess we just never got a chance to—"

"—spend enough time alone to allow the walls down." She shook her head. "Okay, I'm scared now. We're finishing each other's sentences. The blue-blood and the computer nerd; go figure."

Now it was his turn to laugh. "The last thing _anyone_ would call you is a computer _nerd_, Tara. Cyber-goddess, yes. But _never_ a nerd." He turned to face her suddenly, and there was no humor in his blue eyes. "You are a beautiful, strong, caring lady who deserves far more than a string of blind dates who haven't a clue what they're missing out on."

Her eyes widened again; she could see the sincerity behind the compliment, and she realized just how much depth there was beneath his usual iron-clad façade. Something else suddenly occurred to her as well.

"Can I tell you a secret?" She smiled mischievously.

A blond brow went up, wary. "Do I dare to say yes?"

Tara laughed again. "It's nothing bad; I just realized it myself. That string of blind dates you just referred to? I end up comparing almost every one of them… to you."

"You're kidding. And those are the ones that _don't_ work out?" Both brows were halfway to his hairline now. "Why on earth would you want to date someone as cynical, and admittedly arrogant and overbearing at times, as me?"

"Because," she replied softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder, "—and I don't know how I figured it out before this assignment— beneath that arrogant, cynical, downright obnoxious at times, persona of yours, beats the heart of a knight and the soul of a poet."

If she expected a smile, she didn't get it; instead, for what seemed like an eternity, the expression she saw in his eyes could be boiled down to two words: sheer terror. But he didn't look down, and he didn't pull away. After a long moment, in reality, he spoke, his voice soft and shaking just slightly.

"You can't know that; _no one_ knows that."

"Can't know it because it's not true, or because it's the one thing that, for some reason, scares you to death if anyone ever found out?" She was pushing; she knew it, and she waited for him to shut her out again.

This time he did look away, staring into the fire for a long time. But she didn't feel the wall slam down; it seemed he was just waiting for some subtle (or perhaps divine) confirmation that it was all right to say what he was feeling. On an impulse, she sat up and slid down to sit next to him; she laid a hand over his, not speaking but simply offering the comfort he'd shown her earlier.

"Did you ever wonder why I joined the Bureau?" The normally resonant voice was infinitely soft, almost tentative.

Tara didn't move, and she kept her voice equally soft. "As a matter of fact, yes; especially after seeing your relationship with Anne and hearing a little about your family. It doesn't seem like something they'd push you to do."

His breath came out in a short, harsh laugh, almost bitter. "Oh, they didn't, believe me." Now the bitterness was replaced with a tired sigh, and he made his decision.

"When I started at Harvard, I was on a fast track to a degree in corporate law— part of the family finance legacy. I thought…" He paused, then continued, his voice a bit heavy. "I thought that if I could just get to that point, then maybe, just maybe, I'd finally see some approval in my father's eyes, instead of always having to compete with Anne."

Her hand tightened over his. "What happened?"

His gaze stayed on the fire. "The summer between my sophomore and junior years, I did an internship in a criminal law office in New York— a friend of my grandfather's was a senior partner. Even though I was going into corporate law, my college advisor thought it would 'broaden my scope' a bit.

"One of the cases, the major case, that summer was the brutal rape and murder of a 16-year-old girl. Our firm was representing the defendant— a 20-year-old college kid with a family richer than mine. I learned the whole array of slick-talk and testimony manipulation. There didn't seem to be a great deal of evidence against him; this was before DNA tagging was as sophisticated as it is today, and eventually the kid was acquitted.

"When the case was finished, Mr. Crawford, my 'mentor,' asked me to pull together all the files and notes for the case, write up a summary of the outcome and then get it all ready to file away."

She caught the look in his eyes as he paused, and Tara drew in a long breath. "You found something in the case files, didn't you?"

Myles nodded, his eyes now directed at the floor; he gripped her hand as if it were a lifeline. "A police report, from the scene where they'd found the victim; I don't know, to this day, how it got overlooked by both the prosecution and the officers who'd worked the case. And the defense surely didn't make use of it. A single piece of evidence, a single angle that would have convicted the guy in a heartbeat— but because it was overlooked, a guilty man went free. I tried to tell Mr. Crawford…"

"But you can't try a person twice for the same crime," Tara finished for him. She slipped her arm around his shoulders. "It wasn't your fault, Myles. It wasn't your job to take care of details like that. Was it?"

He shook his head; still, she heard his voice break slightly. "Maybe not my fault; but all I could see was that girl. Dead. Brutally violated, beaten to a pulp and left to die ignominiously in a dark alley. Anne was just a year older than the victim; the one thought that haunted me for a long time was 'what if it had been Anne?' Even with the relationship we had, she's still my sister."

She nodded, and he continued. "I was never so glad to get back to school; vowed I'd never go near a criminal court case again. But something in me had changed— I watched the corporate cases we studied, the scenarios we ran defending big companies, advising them of ways to avoid legal problems, the whole drill. But all I could see was the brutality all over again; ruthless practices that walked the edge of legality, but certainly not of integrity. After a corporate firm internship the following summer, I just couldn't do it any more; I couldn't stand by and watch, or worse, help, while employees and shareholders and investors were violated almost as surely as that girl had been."

"You switched specialties, then?" She'd been gently rubbing his shoulders absently the whole time.

"Not exactly," he replied, relaxing against her touch a little. "Just added to it. There was a job fair at the start of my senior year; one of the booths was for the FBI. I got looking through some of their material, just out of curiosity, and I realized that here was a chance to make up for it— that one angle missed, that one chance to put away a murderer that didn't happen. I not only doubled my class load that year, I spent the next year after graduation working on my languages. French was already a family thing, but I knew the Bureau was particularly interested in stuff like Russian and Chinese. I managed to cram them both into a year's study before my 23rd birthday. Had headaches off and on for six months afterward."

Her eyes were very wide, but she was smiling. "You mean to tell me you ended up not only with a double-law degree from Harvard, but learned Russian and Chinese _at the same time_? I don't wonder you had headaches."

Now he laughed, and the past slipped back into its appointed place. "My classmates at Quantico kept trying to figure me out; I was headed exactly where I wanted to be, and wasn't about to let anyone or anything stand in the way— not my family's disappointment, the fallout from several of my Harvard professors, _nothing_."

"Wow." It all made sense now. "But I don't understand why you felt you had to close off from everyone. How come I'm the only person who knows this about you?"

A heavy sigh. "Couple of reasons. First, it was easier to set up a wall against all the fallout than to try endlessly to explain it. And then, my first assignment in Hartford was rough; our unit lost three members in the space of four years. The first one was my training agent."

"Oh, Myles."

He nodded. "It was just one of those things; but he'd been great, one of those people you feel you can talk to about anything, who you know is watching your back even when you're not, and whose first priority is to save you from your own stupidity during those first two years.

"The other two guys… they were friends, a lot like our team is now. We were a family; and then they were gone— just like that, nothing any of us would have done differently, except get the bad guys before it could happen. Maybe that's why I plow through cases like I do; the sooner a case is solved, and a perp is in custody, the less likely anyone else can get hurt."

He fell silent, and Tara let the quiet permeate them both; she thought back over the cases they'd worked together, and now she could see that single force driving him through all of them. But there was something else…

"Myles," she asked softly, "your training agent; did what happened to him…?"

He shook his head, a smile coming to his face. "No, thank heavens. He didn't get killed making up for my stupidity. I don't think I could have stayed in the Bureau after that. A sniper shot him as he was trying to help a civilian caught in the crossfire area."

She laughed a little. "Sounds like Bobby."

Myles gave her a stern look, though his eyes were still highly amused. "I swear you to the ultimate secrecy on this, but Caleb was a _lot_ like Bobby. In some ways, the team I'm on today brings back a lot of the good times from back then."

Now Tara laughed merrily, making an "x" over her heart with her right hand and then raising it. "You have my word. They'll _never_ hear it from me."

He laughed with her; then his expression changed a bit, a mixture of surprise and a fondness that made her heart flip slightly. _What's he thinking all of a sudden?_ she thought. After another moment, she decided she couldn't stand the suspense.

"Penny for your thoughts. Or, in your case, how about a silver dollar?"

He wrinkled his nose at her. "Very funny. Actually, I just realized how many nights _I've_ spent on a first date wondering what you're doing and hoping it was more fun than I was having."

"Ok, now I _know_ you're putting me on. No way. You're looking for someone elegant, sophisticated, intelligent…" She trailed off as he caught her chin in his hand. The look in his eyes could be read a thousand different ways, so she just waited.

"Tara, you are one of the most intelligent women I know— and certainly the most fun. Who else could get away with dragging me out of the house to go miniature golfing in a rainstorm with the words 'Chopin will wait,' all to alleviate the tension surrounding the McNeil case? _No one._ You are unique, and funny, and totally spontaneous, and if I don't stop right now I'm going to end up kissing you."

It was a perfect opening for any number of quips, but she could only think of one. "We've been stage-kissing for two weeks now; you think I'm going to stop you at this point?"

"I'm not referring to a stage kiss, Tara." He sounded a little shocked, himself.

Her voice was as soft as her eyes in the firelight. "I know." She felt the hesitation in him still, so she was the one who closed the distance between them and pressed her lips to his.


	9. Friends or Lovers?

**Chapter 9: Friends or Lovers?**

It was everything the kiss at the warehouse had _not_ been; tender, and infinitely sweet. Still…

He drew back from her, a little breathless and even more hesitant.

"That was nice." Her voice was soft, but held something unreadable at the same time.

Myles opted for a soft smile. "Very nice," he murmured, gently fingering the softness of her hair.

Tara smiled at him. "No major fireworks, though, huh?"

She caught him totally off-guard. "I—" Then he chuckled under his breath. "None for you either, I take it?"

Soft curls bounced as she shook her head. "Nope. I mean, don't get me wrong; it was as sweet a kiss as I've ever had, it just—"

"—engendered more comfort than passion."

Tara nodded. "Eloquent as always. And pretty much on the mark." A grin slid across her face. "Well, at least we don't have to worry about which one of us transfers to another unit, or trying to work that awkward 'ex' thing."

His smile turned wry. "No; I think one 'ex' per unit is more than enough, thank you."

She looked confused for a minute; then, "Oh, Myles, I'm sorry. I didn't even think about Lucy…"

He placed a finger to her lips. "It's all right, Tara. I'm well aware that I brought all that on myself, and I just hope that someday she can forgive me as much as she's accepted my several apologies for it." Now he smiled again. "I do have to admit, though, I've gotten rather used to kissing you during this assignment. It won't be as easy as I thought to go back to a simple working relationship."

"Who says we have to?"

He blinked. "Didn't we just have this conversation? I thought you said—"

Tara smiled. "Myles, I can think of a lot worse things to have in my life than a male friend who's not afraid of a little platonic affection once in awhile. There are times at the office when a glance, a soft word, or a discreet touch could surely make things a lot less stressful. And it's nice to finally feel like I have an 'anchor' on the team; I really hadn't found that, until now. Am I making sense?"

He was quiet for a minute; she could almost hear the idea working its way through those logical corridors in his mind. The smile that crossed his face was slow, almost shy, and as completely open as she'd ever seen from him.

"It does make sense. I've never had a female friend like that, though; I'm not sure I know the rules. Still…" He ruffled her hair again. "I'd be willing to give it a try. I've always kind of thought as D as my 'anchor' on the team, but it's not really the same thing. We're friends, we have an easy relationship at work; but he has his family, and that's his priority." Now a chuckle escaped him. "Besides, somehow I suspect that if I were to be holding D's hand or anything else you and I have gotten comfortable with, it would raise a few eyebrows at work."

Tara's giggle burst out of her. "True." Then she sobered, just a little. "There may be a few brows raised at us, too, you know— most people don't really understand a male-female friendship that can have a lot of affection without anything 'going on,' romantically."

"You sound like you speak from experience."

She nodded. "Yup – I had a friend in college, a guy, who was like that. He was popular, got along with everyone, but within his 'circle' he had a hug for everyone, and a 'hello' from him, if you were female, consisted not only of a big hug, but a quick kiss on the lips. Scott was a flirt, but friendly-wise. You have no idea how many 'we have to talk' conversations I got into with other guy friends after knowing Scott; once you get comfortable with something like that, it's hard to remember the rest of the world doesn't quite get it."

"Ah. I stand warned. 'Anchor' it is, then." He gave her a wicked grin. "Just as long as you don't consider me some old, rusty, barnacle-encrusted anchor."

Her eyes danced with laugher, but she kept a straight face. "Oh, never. Gold-plated at the very least."

He raised a brow at her in mock-insult. "Gold-_plated_? I beg your pardon?"

Now her giggle escaped, and within moments they were both convulsed with laughter. Tara regained her control first, and watched in amazement— _this_ was a side of Myles she doubted anyone had seen in a very long time; that he would share it with her just made things even better.

"Okay, now I _know_ we're both tired," he finally said, catching his breath.

"I think you're right," she replied, "right" getting lost in a huge yawn.

Ten minutes later, they were both settled, her on the sofa and him in the bed, even though the same brief argument had been renewed. Tara watched the firelight flickering; now that they'd stopped talking, she could hear the wind whipping around the inn, sighing like some lost soul. She turned over onto her back, trying to fill her mind with something, _anything_ to drown out the memory of being out in the storm.

Then she turned back onto her side; it wasn't working.

"Tara." His voice slid into her consciousness like a fine blade, even from across the room.

She sat up and sighed heavily, leaning her chin on her arm over the back of the couch. "Yeah?"

"You keep tossing like that, and neither of us will sleep tonight." The smile she heard in his voice faded to concern. "The wind?"

"Yes." Another sigh. "I just can't seem to shake…"

"The memory? I thought perhaps." There was the briefest of pauses. "Come here, then."

She blinked. "Are you sure?"

There was a soft laugh. "Tara, we survived earlier today, and we're each wearing an extra layer now. I think we can manage."

" I just hate being a clingy female," she commented as she settled under the covers.

He laughed again. "Then I expect you to stay over on your side."

She smiled in the darkness. "Deal."

A few minutes later, Tara found herself still listening to the wind with a bit of fear left. She sighed, and reached a hand toward Myles, needing just a bit of contact to reassure herself. Her hand landed on the covers, directly in his warm grasp. _He knows me too well already,_ she thought with a smile as she felt the tension fade.

It was enough; she squeezed his hand once and drifted off to sleep.

s

s

_Sunday morning  
8 a.m._

"_Now_ who's taking our cover a bit over the edge?" His amused voice was the first thing she heard as sleep ebbed away.

Tara opened her eyes slowly; it took her a minute for his dry comment to register. When it did, she realized that some time during the night she had moved over and was curled up right next to Myles, with her head on his shoulder. Only the bright twinkle in his eye kept her from feeling totally mortified. And it gave her a perfect opening for something she'd been debating over telling him ever since that day at the Renaissance Hotel.

"Well, hey," she quipped with a grin, "I've been meaning to tell you; that British accent of yours is downright sexy. Guess my subconscious just couldn't resist."

That marvelously uninhibited laugh rumbled from his chest again. "Nice save." He dropped a brief kiss onto her hair. "You want first shower?"

"Nah. I'm not quite awake yet."

"Uh-huh." A lilt appeared in his voice. "Awake enough t'be kissin' the Blarney Stone, though." He was still laughing as he disappeared into the bathroom.

Tara rolled over so she could look out the window. The snow was still falling heavily and blowing fiercely in the wind. It was a barren expanse of white as far as the eye could see. The eerie sound reverberated round the house, making their isolation complete. But somehow though, it had lost its hold on her. Now it was a haven; the snowbound inn had become the one place where they both felt safe enough to drop all the barriers, the defense mechanisms, and just be themselves, for the first time in ages for either of them.

A smile blossomed on her features. She was safe, warm, and had a wondrous new friendship to explore. Life was good.

s

s

They walked downstairs, hand in hand, their personas as "newlyweds" firmly in place. The kitchen was fairly well-lit from the windows, but the kerosene lamp on the table was still burning. Ruth looked up from her _Readers' Digest_ and coffee cup.

"Well, there you two are," she smiled. "Was wondering if we'd see you this morning."

Myles grinned. "There's very little that gets in the way of my wife's appetite. Sorry we're late," he managed to gasp out as Tara landed an elbow in his gut. He grinned at her again and pulled a chair out for her.

Ruth got up and poured two cups of coffee, then brought over a basket of warm muffins as well. The older lady eyed them momentarily as she sat down. "You know, I took a load of clean linens upstairs this morning. I have to say, for newlyweds, you all are remarkably… quiet."

Tara about lost the mouthful of coffee she'd just drunk, and Myles dropped the muffin he was buttering.

"Ruth, for heavens' sake," Cal muttered in exasperation, having just come in from filling the woodboxes again. "Don't mind her, folks. She's got a suspicious streak a mile wide, and a nose for gossip that rivals CIA Intelligence."

Tara was still trying to breathe normally again, but Myles recovered quickly. "It's all right, Cal," he said easily. "Ruth, our apartment in DC is small, and the walls are paper-thin. We had a few 'complaints' just after we got married, so we've learned to… 'tone it down' a bit. It's habit, that's all."

His partner was looking at him in veiled astonishment at how fast he could come up with these fabrications. Then she smiled and laid her hand over his. "We're hoping to purchase a home soon," she added. "Then we won't have to worry about it."

Ruth smiled in return, all traces of her earlier suspicions gone. "Well, I understand about first apartments," she said fondly. "But you all don't have to worry here, dearies. The walls are plenty thick."

Cal just rolled his eyes again. Before either of the two, now-blushing, agents could come up with a suitable response, Ruth was on her feet again headed for the woodstove. "We may not have any electricity, but I can still whip up a mean omelet. What's your pleasure?"

s

s

Sunday afternoon found them all in the living room. Myles was engrossed in a crossword puzzle; Tara was curled up next to him, reading _Jane Eyre_. Ruth was crocheting, and Cal was asleep in the leather recliner, snoring lightly. The large bay windows in the room had allowed a great deal of daylight in despite the heavy snow; at least until the sun started its descent toward the horizon.

The day had been very relaxed; even without the power on, they'd spent a wonderful time just chatting. Although there wasn't a lot Myles and Tara could share in the way of personal stories, because of their cover, they had a lot of fun making a few up. The trick had been to wait until the other had finished before trying to add to the story; it was an ad-lib challenge Tara had never had to work before, and it was proving to be very enjoyable.

The light was fairly dim now, even with the lamps lit; a couple of hours ago Myles had surprised Tara by pulling a pair of reading glasses out. The gold rims gave him a studious air she found both endearing and a bit funny, given his usual persona. Now, however, she both heard and felt him sigh next to her; he folded the paper and put the glasses back in their case.

"Give up?" she teased.

"On the _Times_? Never. Or, only because it hurts more to see than to think right now." He kissed her cheek. "Besides, there are other things much more readily visible in this light, and much more pleasant to look at in general."

Ruth chuckled. "If ever he stops 'wooing' you like that, dearie, you just let me know. I have a hundred little ways to rekindle that spark; collected them over the years from all the young couples we've had staying here."

Tara laughed. "If he ever stops, I'll just crash his office computer; you have no idea how grateful he is when I manage to repair it." She didn't realize the implication of what she'd said until she saw the look Myles was giving her. Then her cheeks reddened, but she didn't look down.

His grin spoke volumes about the teasing he'd give her later, away from other ears. "Grateful, huh? And how do you know I don't mess up my computer on purpose, just so you can come rescue me?" He ran a finger across her lips as he said it.

Suddenly, there was a charge in the air between them that neither had expected. The banter had been for the benefit of their hosts; but at the moment, all they knew was each other's eyes, and the connection the simple touch had all but burned into them.

Ruth laughed and set down her crochet. "Well, I think I'd best get dinner started. Then you two can have all night to discuss the issue." She headed for the kitchen, leaving the two agents staring at each other.

It took a minute, but finally Myles blinked. "Well," he said softly, "I guess we don't have to worry about convincing Ruth anymore, huh?"

"No." She drew back a little. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to—"

He put a finger to her lips, glancing at Cal to make sure he was still asleep. "No, Tara – it doesn't need an apology, and we have to maintain our cover down here. We can talk later, if you want." The look in his eyes said _he'd_ definitely consider a talk a good thing, but it was veiled enough that she couldn't tell what _sort_ of a talk.

Tara nodded. "Okay." She gave him a light kiss on the cheek and said, "I think I'll go see if I can help Ruth with dinner."

s

s

Considering that they probably should feel a bit uncomfortable around each other, the banter at dinner hadn't seemed to be affected much by it. Tara wondered at that; _Is there more here? Or are we just so comfortable in this cover after our earlier talk that… then what was that moment back there in the…_

She shook her head; there was little use in trying to figure it out when she couldn't even complete a sentence in her own mind. The most annoying part of the whole thing was that her "brush with death" earlier had reminded her rather forcefully that she had no one in her life, no one who would really care if anything _did_ happen to her.

_Except the team._ It was the one thing that kept her sane on this subject; they were family, plain and simple. But Myles had been right— each of the others had found an "anchor," a soul-sibling of sorts. Dimitrius had his own family, so he had become rather a father-figure for them all. But Tara had been drifting a bit; and she'd supposed that Myles was content in his own little shell…

No; she'd known, somehow, all along, that he was in the same predicament she was, except perhaps even deeper. The competitive, almost emotionally sterile childhood they'd recently learned about— as far as any "positive" emotions, anyway— had only confirmed what she'd suspected but not dared do anything about.

_Maybe that's part of it,_ she realized. _Maybe… maybe we're both so desperate for someone to connect with that we're… over-connecting? Or maybe this is what we need from each other. But then, why did nothing happen earlier?_

Her head was starting to spin from the thoughts racing around in her mind. _Time for a short break_. Noting that everyone was finished, she caught Ruth before the older lady could rise to clear the table. "Ruth, sit still. You've been waiting on us hand and foot all day. My turn."

Ruth frowned. "You're _paying_ guests."

"So call it an 'organized group activity'," Tara quipped with a grin. "If I don't expend some energy before long, I'm going to need a new wardrobe after your cooking."

She caught Myles looking at her with an expression he generally reserved for particularly intriguing case puzzles. And she could almost hear the same cacophony of thoughts rumbling through his head as well. Their conversation in a bit would undoubtedly prove both enlightening and, very likely, life-changing.

For both of them.

s

s

"Anything?"

His voice startled her out of her concentration. Tara brought the field glasses down from her eyes and sighed. They'd left the room dark for a few minutes to check on Jones. "Not that I can see. Either he's in one of the back rooms with just a lamp or flashlight, he's asleep early, or he decided to brave the elements. More than that, I haven't any idea; the snow's still too heavy to even see if his car is in the driveway."

"Well, it was worth a shot." Myles moved to build the fire up again as Tara lit the two lamps they had in the room. "My gut tells me he's not going anywhere. This place is sleepy enough that he should feel pretty well sheltered, particularly in the middle of a snowstorm."

The "case talk" sounded so contrived that Tara had to smile. It _wasn't_, of course; they still had a mission here to take care of. But after the incident downstairs, she knew they were both stalling. _At least it's a comfortable stalling,_ she thought. _That's something we haven't lost, at least._

She really didn't think they'd truly lost anything, but they did need to figure it out. A few extra minutes wouldn't hurt, though, so she sat down on the couch and watched the flames in the fireplace spring to life.

Myles stared into the fire for a long moment; his stance was relaxed, but it was obvious he was trying to sort his thoughts. Then he sat back, settling on the floor in front of the raised hearth. He held out a hand to her.

"It's warmer here for the moment."

She nodded and moved to sit with her back to the hearth, looking at him calmly. "Are you okay?" she asked. "You seem a bit… preoccupied."

His breath came out in a laugh. "You could say that. Just trying to figure out where to start, or if there's even really anything _to_ start. Downstairs…" He met her eyes finally. "Was all that just cover, or…?"

Tara shook her head. "I honestly don't know, Myles. I know part of it stemmed from the banter we had going, but…" She sighed. "I just don't know."

"Well," he said after a moment, a twinkle in his eye. "I do suppose there's only one way to find out if we incorrectly read the signs earlier."

"Always the logical one," she countered with a smile. "When in doubt, re-run the experiment, huh?"

"Precisely." He gently ran his fingertips over her cheek. Her eyes drifted closed at his touch, and for a moment she was lost, as lost as she'd been in his eyes earlier. Then she realized it wasn't _lost_ she felt; it was _found_.

_Who's to say that comfort can't be enough?_ she thought. _When you're so tired of being alone, and you find someone who can make you feel not alone, where's the harm in getting lost in that for awhile?_

Her eyes opened, and she gazed up at him— trusting, open, as open as she'd allowed herself to be with anyone in ages. She watched the blue-grey eyes widen a little, then match her offering with his own. His hand settled against her cheek, and he covered her mouth with his.

It started as gentle as the previous one had; then the kiss deepened as they drank from each other what they both so desperately sought. Yet it remained comfort, far more than desire. _And that's enough for now._

He released her slowly, almost regretfully; she saw in his eyes both wonder and a bit of uncertainty. Whatever he'd been expecting, it apparently hadn't been the… contentment… she'd felt and known he had as well.

Tara looked up at him thoughtfully. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Have you ever wished that, for even one night, there was someone who could make your life not lonely?"

Myles stared at her for a long moment, his eyes widening further in something she couldn't quite decipher. "Tara, what are you asking? Because I would hope you know me well enough by now to know I don't do 'one-night stands'."

Tara smiled gently. "I hope you know me well enough to know I don't either. But I have serious doubts that anything you and I could share would be that shallow."

She watched his eyes close, his brow furrow almost in pain, and wondered at the reason. Then she reached up and gently touched his cheek. "Myles, there's a blizzard raging outside. The rest of the world seems a very long ways away, and I'm so very tired of feeling like there isn't a soul in the world who really cares about me."

His eyes opened again, and he looked right into her soul. She was expecting shock, or a smile, or _anything_ but the reaction she got. The sorrow that filled his eyes went through her like a knife, because somehow she _knew_ it was for her.

"Tara," he said softly, reaching out to stroke her hair. "Please, _please_ tell me that you do not value yourself so little as that."

She drew back slightly, her own eyes widening. "Myles, it's that I—"

"—value me that much?" A smile touched his lips, but the sadness remained. "Tara, I have no words to tell you how deeply I am touched by that sentiment, but this isn't the way to show it."

"I—" She wasn't quite sure how to respond; part of her felt a deep shame that she'd even suggested it, and another part felt almost rejected. Still she couldn't look away from the fondness, the… _love?_… she saw in his eyes.

"Tara," he said at last, tangling his fingers in her hair. "I will hold you all night if you want, if you need that…" He smiled. "If _we_ need that. But I _will not_ devalue the friendship we've discovered so recently. It is a treasure too new, too precious to me, to do that to."

The tears that filled her eyes were lit by her smile. "It's that to me, too. I'm sorry—" She waved a hand at him as he started to protest. "I _am_ sorry that I felt something so... temporary... could take the place of what we're sharing now."

He placed a gentle kiss at her temple. "Accepted, then."

A mischievous grin lit her face just then, and he raised a brow at her. "All right, what's working its way through that devious little mind of yours now?"

Tara laughed softly. "I guess we'll just have to endure Ruth's teasing about being 'too quiet' for the rest of the time here."

"I think we'll survive," he quipped, with a grin back at her. "Unless, of course, you'd like to pull the same scheme on her you did with Jones back at the Renaissance."

Now her laugh rose above the crackling of the fireplace, and she snuggled closer to her friend. "Tempting. But I think I'll behave myself this time. Ruth's too nice to do that to. Besides, I'm rather enjoying _this_ moment. I don't need to invent one."


	10. Settling Up

**Chapter 10: Settling Up**

_Monday morning  
8 a.m._

They'd ended up in each other's arms after all, the same as the night previous. Tara stretched as she awoke, then realized there was no one beside her. She looked around, startled, and realized there was sunlight streaming through the windows. The storm had broken overnight.

She got up and walked over to the window seat. Myles, apparently long up and showered, was sitting on the window seat, back in his "Markham" wardrobe. Only the silk tie hung loose around his shoulders.

Her breath caught as she looked out at the view. A thick blanket of white covered everything; the bay had frozen in places, and the open water shone bright blue against the dazzling whiteness. Even the bare branches of the birch trees were coated in a fair inch of frozen water. With the sun shining on it, it was a crystal wonderland.

"'The woods are lovely, dark and deep./ But I have promises to keep/and miles to go before I sleep/and miles to go before I sleep.'" The baritone voice was soft and filled with wonder as he gazed out at the landscape.

"Robert Frost," she whispered in return, placing a hand on his shoulder. "But there's nothing dark about those woods right now. Or anything out there. It's as if the sun is trying to erase any memory of the storm, except this result. But the rest of it works; we still have miles to go. Time to get back to reality."

He reached up to take her hand in his own, and turned to face her. She drew back at the sight of a single tear on his cheek. "What is it?"

The blue-grey eyes dropped for just a moment; then he looked back up at her. "Will you laugh at me if I confess I don't want to leave this place?"

Tara reached up and wiped the tear away with a gentle hand. "You'd go crazy after awhile without a bad guy to hunt down. So would I. But I share the feeling. This place… it's special. It was a haven for us, a safe place where we could both let down the walls…" She trailed off as she realized. "That's it, isn't it— why you don't want to leave?"

He nodded. "That 'poet' you discovered has been hiding for so long… I find I don't want to lose that again. But I have to— or at least push it back behind the walls. I won't be able to do my job if I don't; and you already know how much I _need_ to do that job."

"I know." She moved to sit next to him, and took his hand in both of hers. "But you don't have to push it so far as before, Myles. There's someone who knows now— someone to share it with when the battle's over for a few minutes, or an hour, or an evening. That's a gift we've given to each other here, and I don't plan to take it back once we walk out the door of this inn. Do you?"

Now a smile lighted his face, and he drew her closer with his free hand. "No," he said softly, brushing her hair back from her face. "I don't plan on it, either. I just wanted… maybe _needed_ to hear it from you, I guess. Trust on this level is something I haven't done in a very, _very_ long time."

Tara grinned. "Well, get used to it, mister. I don't give up easily."

The laugh that escaped him was like music. "I'm glad. Now, since it looks like Jones took the opportunity to make a run out somewhere, we need to get moving. I want to be out of here and on the road before he gets back."

She sat up straight and attentive— her eyes twinkling the whole time. "What's the plan, Chief?"

The look he gave her was priceless. "The _plan_," he chuckled, "is to drive up to Rockland, the next town, trade in that Buick for a Mercedes, stay the night there, and drive back here in the morning for the meeting. We'll make it look like we flew into Bar Harbor, then drove down the coast. Small airport, but very popular with private planes, and it can handle Lears; Rockland's airstrip isn't long enough," he answered the unspoken question in her eyes.

"Ah. Okay, then – give me fifteen minutes, and I'll be the stunning assistant again."

He touched her nose with a fingertip. "As much as I look forward to that, you don't need the full treatment today. Remember, we don't want to tip off Jones in case he comes back early, nor do we want to make Cal and Ruth suspicious. Today you can simply be the beautiful and remarkable lady I 'married' for this case. And that fifteen minutes better include packing; the sooner we get out of proximity, the less chance of him seeing us. I'm going to take my bags down and get us checked out, then get the car cleaned off and ready to go."

She sighed dramatically. "You take all the fun out of this, you know that? All right, all right, I'm going." But she giggled as he aimed a good-natured swat at her as she hopped off the window seat.

His deep voice followed her as she headed for the shower. "All the _fun_? My dear, the fun's about to begin. Ol' Danny isn't going to know what hit him!"

The last thing she heard before she closed the bathroom door was a baritone voice singing the opening notes of "Danny Boy."

**stfbe**

**stfbe**

_Tuesday morning  
10 a.m._

"Mr. Markham." Jones extended a hand. "I see the inclement weather didn't slow you down."

Myles gave the man a withering look. "Only you would plan an exchange in the midst of the Arctic, Jones," he snapped. "You're fortunate we landed in Bar Harbor before the storm got that far. Let's get this over with."

"As you wish." He pulled out a briefcase, opened it and spread the radar plans out. "You can see the entire set of plans is here. You have the money we agreed upon?"

"I do." Myles laid his own briefcase on the table and opened it. "Three million dollars. Count it if you like."

Jones shook his head. "You think I don't trust you? Nonsense." Then he looked around suddenly. "Where's your charming assistant today?"

"Waiting in the warmth of the car," Myles replied coldly. "I decided she'd had enough of your lecherous comments. Now let's finish this and get out of each other's hair, shall we?"

"Oh, I agree most heartily," Jones replied smoothly. He returned the plans to the case and moved his hand to close the lid. "Unfortunately, Mr. Markham, you won't be going anywhere."

The lid to the briefcase clicked shut just as the barrel of a .45 came into view.

"What's going on?" Myles asked. "I thought we had a deal."

"Oh, we do," Jones said, raising the gun until it was pointed squarely at Myles' heart. "The terms have simply changed, that's all." He pulled out a chair from the table. "Sit down. And I want your hands flat on the table where I can see them."

Myles complied, mentally kicking himself for not anticipating this. Jones quickly frisked him, removing the agent's handgun from its resting place at the small of Myles' back.

The thief smiled as he laid the other man's gun on the table. "I told you I had other interested parties. I can still sell the plans today; just not to you. And I come out three million dollars richer still." He slowly moved around behind Myles, the gun coming to rest at the base of the agent's skull. "And don't worry about your lovely companion. I'll make sure she stays warm; maybe we'll have a little party before she joins you in the bay out there."

A pair of hands clenched into fists on the tabletop. "You're playing with fire, Jones."

"I think not. A good day, to you, my British friend. It has been a most profitable acquaintance." The sound of a hammerlock being pulled back echoed around the room.

Suddenly, the hand against Myles' head stiffened a bit, and a soft voice with a thread of steel in it was heard.

"You know, I've been wanting to shoot you ever since the first day I met you, Jones," Tara said. "I'm almost hoping you give me a reason right now. Put the gun on the table, please."

Jones did so, his face paling as Tara stepped around to face him, her own firearm raised and cocked. "Dan Jones," she said as she flipped open her ID, "you just picked the wrong people to mess with. Special Agent Tara Williams, FBI. And my associate, Special Agent Myles Leland the Third. You're under arrest for espionage, theft of classified documents… oh, and the attempted murder of a Federal Agent. Did I miss anything, Myles?" She smiled.

"I'm sure there's something," Myles drawled, leaning back in the chair with a grin. "But that's more than enough for us to haul his pathetic posterior back to Washington. Took you long enough, by the way, Agent Williams." He picked up his gun to cover Jones while Tara cuffed the thief and read him the Miranda rights.

"I thought you always have everything under control, Agent Leland," she countered. "Didn't figure you _needed_ any help. Nice alliteration, though— 'pathetic posterior.' I like that."

"I must say, your stealth is uncanny. I never heard you coming." He raised a brow at her. "And I think you really _must_ keep that wool cape; it's quite stunning."

"Back to the fashion report?" she laughed as she gathered up both briefcases. "Tell you what; I'll splurge and pay for the cape if I get to hear that British accent once in awhile."

Myles took Jones by the arm, his grin delighted. "We can discuss it all the way back to DC. Let's go."

**stfbe**

**stfbe**


	11. Epilogue: The Story We Started

**Epilogue: The Story We Started**

_Bullpen, Hoover Building  
Tuesday afternoon, 4 p.m._

The applause that met them was rousing; after an exchanged grin, they received it with bows fitting of Olympic skaters.

Ted Garrett was perched on Bobby's desk, his arms crossed, shaking his head and smiling. "It would appear we have a new 'crack team' here on this squad," he intoned. "Nice work. Just continue to keep each other from getting frozen or shot, will you, please?"

"Yes, sir," Myles and Tara replied in unison. Garrett paused to give them each a hearty handshake, then made his way out of the Bullpen. He'd barely passed the threshold before the two agents were all but swarmed by their co-workers.

After a moment, Jack pulled Tara out of the melee and away from the crowd a bit. "I assume you've already been 'chastised' for that little stunt you pulled?" he asked, the sternness of his voice gentled by the warmth in the dark eyes.

"Yes, boss," she replied with a bit of a rueful grin. "It was everything you'd expect from Myles and then some." _Not exactly the truth, but hey…_

But Jack just shook his head. "I dunno, Tara. Something tells me that there's a soft spot for you under all that bravado." He chuckled as she drew back in surprise. "I didn't say you'd ever _see_ it; but after the bit with Gonzales, it wouldn't surprise me at all."

She gave him a strange look again, wondering how much he knew and didn't let on; but she didn't have much of a chance to ponder it further. Bobby draped an arm over her shoulder as the rest of the group approached.

Myles was looking positively suspicious. "Something's going on, but I haven't a clue what." His eyes raked over the team. "There are far too many diabolical smiles in this room."

"As there should be, after the two of you up and 'disappeared' on us for two full days," Bobby purred. "There's no end to the rumors that have been buzzing around this office in your absence."

"But," Lucy piped in, "since we know both of you well enough to expect any details beyond the official report, we'll just have to make do with our own imaginations." She shuddered, though the grin stayed on her face. "And a few of us have had more colorful imaginings than the rest of us really care to entertain."

Tara focused a glare on Bobby. "It was a _snowstorm_, for heaven's sake – all the phones were out, down, non-functioning. D, can't you keep these guys in line?"

Dimitrius chuckled. "Only to a point. Next time, though, just _tell_ Jack he's off-base if a sit is too dangerous, okay? We don't need to be hanging your picture next to Wes'."

She snapped him a salute. "Gotcha, 'dad.'" There was laughter all around at that.

"Anyway," Sue said, approaching them both with her hands behind her back, "since we know you have a report yet to finish tonight, and probably won't be able to join us at Gonigans, we thought we'd leave these with you." She handed a small envelope to Myles. "This is for both of you. I may not have heard the actual conversation, but the re-tellings of the scene at the Renaissance Hotel were well worth waiting for the translation. So we thought we'd give Tara another chance to 'perform.'"

Bobby and Jack both smothered grins; Dimitrius just smiled and shook his head. Lucy glared at the trio, trying to decide if she should fill Sue in on the obviously unintended implication.

Tara's eyes went very wide and her face went scarlet, but she laughed all the same. "I don't think I can top that," she quipped. "And I think _someone_—" She glared at Bobby again. "—just volunteered to be my next sparring partner down at the gym next week."

Now Myles let out the laugh he'd been almost strangling to hold in. "Can I referee?" He waved a _never mind_ in response to Sue's very puzzled look. "Lucy can fill you in shortly; and you might want to take a swing at these cavemen after she does. But thank you." He held up two pieces of brightly colored paper and turned to Tara. "It's tickets to the Renaissance Fair at the Washington Convention Center next month. Would milady care to join me? I bet we can find a lance you can use on Manning."

Tara shot another look at the Aussie; the grin that spread across her face was positively lethal. "Now _that_ sounds like a plan. Thanks, you guys."

Jack checked his watch. "Oops – we better go or we're not gonna get a table. You guys join us later?"

Tara and Myles exchanged a glance. It was Myles who answered. "Maybe. It's been a bit of a full day, though." He caught a slight nod and a smile from his "partner."

"Okay, then," D replied. "We won't expect you, but we'll be there for most of the evening if you're interested."

"You'll just have to open these on your own then, I guess." Sue smiled as she pressed a small box into each of their hands. "Don't work too hard." She grabbed her coat and hurried after the rest of the group.

After a beat or two of silence, Tara turned around and set the box on her desk while she opened it. The note on it said "In honor of 'The Case of the Weekend in New England'." Her breath caught as she pulled out a three-inch glass snowglobe. Inside was a building that looked remarkably like the inn they'd stayed at. "Oh, my. Myles—" She turned around and stopped short.

He was holding an identical one, staring at it. She couldn't see the look in his eyes from her angle, so she walked over and placed a hand on his arm; it wasn't until then that she realized he was shaking slightly.

"Are you okay?" She kept her voice quiet in case anyone was still out in the hallway.

He nodded, but when he looked up she saw the same almost-tear that had escaped him back at the inn. "Just a song in my head… it really doesn't apply to us, but still…"

Very softly, as she waited, the baritone voice released what was in his soul:

_Time in New England took me away  
To long, rocky beaches, and you by the bay.  
We started a story whose end must now wait…  
And tell me…_

He trailed off, dropping his eyes again.

Tara smiled and squeezed his arm softly. "But it _doesn't_ have to wait, Myles. We're here; we work together. That story we started, that friendship we found; it's something that's always available to us. Tell you what; why don't we finish up this report together, then go grab some dinner. Just us. Give us both a chance to come back to reality without feeling like we're losing anything."

Now he looked up at her without hesitation, and the light in his eyes turned them bright blue. For a moment he seemed to try to remember something; then he set down the globe and moved his hands in a sign. Each of his hands formed an "x" handshape; the index finger on each extended and bent slightly. He interlocked them, right over left, then reversed the move.

Tara's smile was brilliant as new-fallen snow in the sunshine as she mirrored the gesture. "Friends."

**FINIS**


End file.
